***** 


1 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 


MABEL  R.  GILLIS 


THE   STARRY  FLAG   SERIES, 

BY    OLIVER    OPTIC. 


I.   THE  STARRY  FLAG;   OR,  THE  YOUNG  FISHERMAN  OP 
CAPE  ANN. 

II.  FREAKS  OF  FORTUNE ;  OR,  HALF  ROUND  THE  WORLD. 

III.  BREAKING  AWAY ;   OR,  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  STUDENT. 

IV.  SEEK  AND  FIND;   OR,  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SMART 

BOY. 

V.  MAKE   OR  BREAK ;  OR,  THE  RICH  MAN'S  DAUGHTER. 

VI.   DOWN  THE   RIVER;    OR,  BCCK  BRADFORD   AND  HIS 
TYRANTS. 


MAKE  OR  BREAK; 


OB, 


THE  RICH  MAN'S  DAUGHTER. 


BY 


OLIVER    OPTIC, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  YOUNG  AMERICA  ABROAD,"  "  THE  ARMY  AND  NAVY  STORIES," 

"THE  WOODVILLL  STOKIES,"  "THE  BOAT-CLUB  STORIES," 

"  THE  RIVKUDALE  STOKIES,"  KTC. 


BOSTON 
LEE  AND  SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 


Entered,  according  to  Act  a  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

WILLIAM   T.  ADAMS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Distrir*  of  Massachusetts 


COPTRISHT,  1896,  BY  WILLIAM  T.  ADAMS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


MAKK  OK  BREAK. 


. 

^ 

I 


TO 


MY    YOUNG    FRIEND 


KATE     V.     AUSTIN 


IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 


PREFACE. 


"  MAKE  OR  BREAK,"  is  the  fifth  of  the  serial  stories  pub 
lished  in  "  OUR  BOYS  AND  GIRLS"  —  a  magazine  which  has 
become  so  much  the  pet  of  the  author,  that  he  never  sits 
down  to  write  a  story  for  it  without  being  impressed  by  a 
very  peculiar  responsibility.  Twenty  thousand  youthful  faces 
seem  to  surround  him,  crying  out  for  something  that  will 
excite  their  minds,  and  thrill  their  very  souls,  while  a  calm 
er,  holier  voice,  speaking  in  the  tones  of  divine  command, 
breathes  gently  forth,  "  Feed  my  lambs." 

The  lambs  will  not  eat  dry  husks ;  they  loathe  the  taste 
less  morsel  which  well-meaning  sectarians  offer  them,  and 
hunger  for  that  which  will  warm  their  hearts  and  stir  their 
blood.  The  heart  may  be  warmed,  and  the  blood  may  be 
stirred,  without  corrupting  the  moral  nature.  The  writer 
has  endeavored  to  meet  this  demand  in  this  way,  and  he  is 
quite  sure  that  the  patient,  striving,  toiling  Leo,  and  th« 

(5) 


6  PREFACE. 

gentle,  self-sacrificing,  and  devoted  Maggie,  do  nothing  in  the 
story  which  will  defile  the  mind  or  the  heart  of  the  young 
people.  The  Bible  teaches  what  they  sought  to  practise.  He 
is  satisfied  that  none  of  his  readers  will  like  Mr.  Fitzherbert 
Wittleworth  well  enough  to  make  him  their  model. 

The  author  is  willing  the  story  should  pass  for  what  it  is 
worth;  and  there  is  no  danger  that  it  will  be  over  or  under 
valued,  for  the  young  people  are  even  more  critical  than 
their  elders.  But  the  favor  already  bestowed  upon  it  has 
added  to  the  weight  of  the  writer's  obligation  to  the  juvenile 
reading  public ;  and  in  giving  them  the  story  in  its  present 
permanent  form,  he.  trusts  that  it  will  continue  to  be  not  only 
a  source  of  pleasure,  but  a  stimulus  to  higher  aims,  and  a 
more  resolute  striving  for  what  is  worth  having  both  in  the 
moral  and  material  world. 

WILLIAM  T.  ADAMS. 

HARBISON  SQUARE,  MASS., 
July  28, 18C8. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

MR.    "WlTTLEWORTH   GETS    SHAVED 11 

CHAPTER    II. 
BOY  WANTED 22 

CHAPTER    III. 
MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  is  VIOLENT 34 

CHAPTER    IV. 
MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  RUSHES 46 

CHAPTER   V. 
LEO  MAGGIMORE 57 

CHAPTER    VI. 
LEO'S  WORKSHOP 69 

CHAPTER    VII. 
MON  PERB 81 

(7) 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEK  VIII. 
MAKE  OR  BREAK 94 

CHAPTER    IX. 
MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  AND  FAMILY 105 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE    WlTTLEWORTH    FAMILY 117 

CHAPTER    XI. 
THE  MOUSE  BUSINESS 129 

CHAPTER    XII. 

LEO'S    WONDERFUL    PERFORMERS 141 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

WlTTLEWORTH    VS.    CHECKYNSHAW 153 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  is  LIBERAL 166 

CHAPTER    XV. 
A  SUCCESS  IN  THE  MOUSE  BUSINESS 179 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
THE  LETTER  FROJI  MARGUERITE 192 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
THE  LETTER  FROM  FRANCE 204 


CONTENTS.  9 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
THE  QUITCLAIM  DEED 211 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS  REWARD    ........    229 

CHAPTER   XX. 
AN  AVALANCHE  OP  GOOD  FORTUNE 241 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
MR.  WITTLEWORTH'S  WRONGS 254 

CHAPTER    XXII. 
THE  TWO  MARGUERITES 266 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 
THE  GOLD  LOCKET 279 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 
ME  AND  CHOATE 291 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE    ELEGANT   YOUNG    LADY 303 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 
THE  RICH  MAN'S  DAUGHTER 315 


MAKE    OR    BREAK; 

OK, 

THE  RICH  MAN'S  DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MB.   WITTLEWORTH   GETS    SHAVED. 

"IV "TEXT  gentleman!"  said  Andre  Maggimore,  one 
.1^1  of  the  journeyman  barbers  in  the  extensive 
shaving  saloon  of  Cutts  &  Stropmore,  which  was  situ 
ated  near  the  Plutonian  temples  of  State  Street,  in 
the  city  of  Boston. 

"  Next  gentleman ! "  repeated  Andre,  in  tones  as 
soft  and  feminine  as  those  of  a  woman,  when  no  one 
responded  to  his  summons. 

"My  turn?"  asked  a  spare  young  man  of  sixteen, 
throwing  down  the  Post,  with  a  languid  air,  and  rising 
to  his  feet. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Andre,  politely;  and  if  the  speaker 


12  MAKE   OR   BREAK,   OB 

had  been  ou:  c.  sight,  one  would  have  supposed  it  was 
.1  lady  who  spoi:e.  "  Have  your  hair  cut  ?  " 

''No;  shave." 

The  barber  seemed  to  be  startled  by  the  announce 
ment,  though  there  was  not  the  faintest  smile  on  his 
face  to  discourage  the  candidate  for  tonsorial  honors. 
The  young  man  looked  important,  threw  his  head 
back,  pursed  up  his  lips,  and  felt  of  his  chin,  on  which 
there  was  not  the  slightest  suspicion  of  a  beard  visi 
ble  to  the  naked  eye.  Mr.  Fitzherbert  Wittleworth 
5vould  not  have  been  willing  to  acknowledge  that  he 
had  not  been  shaved  for  three  weeks;  but  no  one 
could  have  discovered  the  fact  without  the  aid  of  a 
powerful  microscope. 

Mr.  Wittleworth  spread  out  his  attenuated  frame  in 
the  barber's  chair,  and  dropped  his  head  back  upon  the 
rest.  Andre  looked  as  grave  and  serious  as  though  he 
had  been  called  to  operate  upon  the  face  of  one  of  the 
venerable  and  dignified  bank  presidents  who  frequent 
ed  the  shop.  He  was  a  journeyman  barber,  and  it 
was  his  business  to  shave  any  one  who  sat  down  in 
his  chair,  whether  the  applicant  had  a  beard  or  not. 
If  Andre's  voice  was  soft  and  musical,  his  resemblance 


THE   RICH   MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  13 

to  the  gentler  sex  did  not  end  there,  for  his  hand 
was  as  silky  and  delicate,  and  his  touch  as  velvety, 
as  though  he  had  been  bred  in  a  boudoir. 

He  adjusted  the  napkin  to  the  neck  of  the  juvenile 
customer  with  the  nicest  care,  and  then,  from  the  force 
of  habit,  passed  his  downy  hand  over  the  face  upon 
which  he  was  to  operate,  as  if  to  determine  whether 
it  was  a  hard  or  a  tender  skin.  Several  of  the  custom 
ers  smiled  and  coughed,  and  even  the  half-dozen  jour 
neymen  were  not  unmoved  by  the  spectacle. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Fitz?"  asked  the  occu 
pant  of  the  adjoining  chair,  who  had  just  straightened 
himself  up  to  be  "  brushed  off." 

"  I'm  going  to  have  a  shave,"  answered  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth,  as  confidently  as  though  the  proceedings  were 
entirely  regular. 

"What  for?" 

"  To  have  my  beard  taken  off,  of  course.  What  do 
you  shave  for  ?  " 

"  Put  on  the  cream,  and  let  the  cat  lick  it  off." 

"That's  a  venerable  joke.  I  dare  say  the  barber 
did  not  gap  his  razor  when  he  shaved  you.  I  always 
feel  better  after  I  have  been  shaved,"  added  Mr.  Wjt- 


14  MAKE    OB   BREAK,   OE 


tleworth,  as  Andre  laid  a  brush  full  of  lather  upon  his 
smooth  chin. 

Those  in  the  shop  chuckled,  and  some  of  them  were 
ill-mannered  enough  to  laugh  aloud,  at  the  conceit  of 
the  young  man  who  thus  announced  to  the  world  that 
his  beard  had  grown.  Even  the  proprietors  of  the 
extensive  shaving  saloon  looked  uncommonly  good- 
natured,  though  it  was  not  prudent  for  them  to  rebuke 
the  ambition  of  the  prospective  customer. 

Andre  lathered  the  face  of  the  juvenile  with  as 
much  care  as  though  it  had  been  that  of  the  parsimo 
nious  broker  at  the  corner,  who  shaved  only  when  his 
beard  was  an  eighth  of  a"n  inch  in  length.  Not  satis 
fied  with  this  preparatory  step,  he  resorted  to  the 
process  used  for  particularly  hard  beards,  of  rubbing 
the  lather  in  with  a  towel  wet  in  hot  water ;  but  An 
dre  did  not  smile,  or  by  word  or  deed  indicate  that 
all  he  was  doing  was  not  absolutely  necessary  in  order 
to  give  his  customer  a  clean  and  an  easy  shave.  Then 
he  stropped  his  razor  with  zealous  enthusiasm,  making 
the  shop  ring  with  the  melody  of  the  thin  steel,  as  he 
whipped  it  back  and  forth  on  the  long  strip  of  soft 
leather,  one  en^  ->f  which  was  nailed  to  the  case,  and 


THi;    RICH    MAX'S    DAUGHTER.  15 

whe  other  end  held  in  his  hand.  The  music  was  doubt 
less  sweet  to  the  listening  ears  of  Mr.  Wittleworth, 
if  not  as  the  prelude  of  an  easy  shave,  at  least  as  an 
assurance  that  all  the  customary  forms  had  been  scru 
pulously  complied  with  in  his  individual  case. 

Slapping  the  broad-bladed  razor  on  his  soft  hand, 
the  barber  approached  the  young  man  in  the  chair. 
With  a  graceful  movement  he  brought  the  instrument 
to  bear  gently  on  the  face. 

"Does  it  pull,  Fitz?"  asked  the  tormentor  in  the 
next  chair. 

"Of  course  not;  Andre  always  gives  a  man  an  easy 
shave,"  replied  Mr.  Wittleworth. 

"  Certainly ;  but  some  people  have  tough  beards  and 
tender  faces." 

"  If  your  beard  is  as  soft  as  your  head,  it  won't  hurt 
you  to  shave  with  a  handsaw,"  retorted  Mr.  Wittle 
worth. 

The  laugh  was  at  the  expense  of  the  tormentor,  and 
he  retreated  from  the  shop  in  the  "guffaw,"  and  Fitz 
was  permitted  to  finish  his  shave  in  peace  —  in  peace, 
at  least,  so  far  as  this  particular  tormentor  was  con 
cerned,  for  a  more  formidable  one  assailed  him  before 


16  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OB 

his  departure.  Andre  went  over  his  face  with  the 
nicest  care ;  then  lathered  it  again,  and  proceeded  to 
give  it  the  finishing  touches.  He  was  faithful  to  the 
end,  and  gave  the  juvenile  patron  the  benefit  of  the 
entire  length  and  breadth  of  his  art,  omitting  nothing 
that  could  add  dignity  or  perfection  to  the  operation. 
It  was  quite  certain  that,  if  there  was  anything  like  an 
imperceptible  down  on  his  face  at  the  commencement 
of  the  process,  there  was  nothing  left  of  it  at  the  end. 

Mr.  Wittleworth's  hair  was  oiled,  moistened  with 
diluted  Cologne  water,  combed,  brushed,  parted,  and 
tossed  in  wavy  flakes  over  his  head,  and  was  as  fra 
grant,  glossy,  and  unctuous  as  the  skill  of  Andre  could 
make  it. 

"One  feels  more  like  a  Christian  after  a  clean  shave," 
said  Mr.  Wittleworth,  as  he  rose  from  the  chair,  and 
passed  his  hand  approvingly  over  his  polished  chin. 
"Barbers,  good  barbers,  do  a  missionary  work  in  the 
world." 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Fitz?"  demanded  a 
stern-looking  gentleman,  who  had  just  entered  the 
shop,  and  stepped  up  behind  the  juvenile  customer. 

"  I  came  in  to  get  shaved,"  replied  Mr.  Wittleworth, 
abashed  by  the  harsh  tones. 


THE   EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  17 

"Shaved!"  exclnimed  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  the  stern- 
looking  gentleman,  well  known  as  the  senior  partner 
of  the  great  banking  house  of  Checkynshaw,  Hart,  & 

Co.     "  Shaved  ! " 
- 

"Yes,  sir;   I  came  here  to  be  shaved,  and  I  have 

been  shaved,"  replied  the  young  man,  trying  to  assume 
an  air  of  bravado,  though  he  was  actually  trembling 
in  his  boots  before  the  lofty  and  dignified  personage 
who  confronted  and  confounded  him. 

"Is  this  the  way  you  waste  your  time  and  your 
money  ?  I  sent  you  to  the  post-office,  and  you  have 
been  gone  over  half  an  horn*." 

"  I  had  to  wait  for  iny  turn,"  pleaded  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth. 

"  When  I  send  you  to  the  post-office,  you  will  not 
loiter  away  your  time  in  a  barber's  shop,  you  conceited 
puppy.  I'll  discharge  you ! " 

"Discharge  mef"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wittleworth,  stung 
by  the  epithet  of  the  banker.  "  I  think  not,  sir." 

The  young  gentleman  placed  his  hat  upon  his  head, 

canting  it  over  on  one  side,  so  as  to  give  him  a  saucy 

and   jaunty   appearance.      Mr.   Checkynshaw,   whose 

clerk,  or  rather  "  boy,"  he  was,  had  often  scolded  him, 

2 


18  MAKE    OB   BREAK,    OK 

and  even  abused  him,  in  the  private  office  of  the  bank 
ing-house,  but  never  before  in  a  place  so  public  as  a 
barber's  shop  in  'Change  Street,  and  in  'change  hours. 
He  felt  outraged  by  the  assault ;  for  Mr.  Wittleworth, 
as  his  employer  had  rather  indelicately  hinted,  had  a 
high  opinion  of  himself.  He  straightened  himself  up, 
and  looked  impudent  —  a  phase  in  his  conduct  which 
the  banker  had  never  before  observed,  and  he  stood 
aghast  at  this  indication  of  incipient  rebellion. 

"You  think  not,  you  puppy!"  exclaimed  the  banker, 
stamping  his  feet  with  rage. 

"I  think  not!  It  wouldn't  be  a  prudent  step  for 
you  to  take,"  answered  Mr.  Wittleworth,  stung  again 
by  the  insulting  appellations  heaped  upon  him.  "I 
know  rather  too  much  about  your  affairs  to  be  cast 
out  so  thoughtlessly." 

"  I  will  discharge  you  this  very  day ! "  replied  the 
banker,  his  teeth  set  firmly  together. 

"I  think  you  will  find  that  the  affairs  of  Messrs. 
Checkynshaw,  Hart,  &  Co.  will  not  go  on  so  smoothly 
without  me  as  they  do  with  me,"  added  Mr.  Wittle 
worth,  as  he  canted  his  hat  over  a  little  more  on  one 
side,  and  pulled  up  his  shirt  collar. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  19 

"  Without  you  ! "  gasped  the  banker,  confounded  by 
the  assumption  of  his  employee. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  find  it  so,  after  you  have  done 
your  worst." 

"  Conceited  puppy !  I  took  you  into  my  office  out 
of  chanty !  Go  to  your  place.  Charity  can  do  no 
more  for  you." 

"If  you  can  afford  to  discharge  me,  I  can  afford  to 
be  discharged,"  replied  Mr.  Wittleworth,  as  he  stroked 
his  chin,  and  walked  out  of  the  shop. 

"  The  young  vagabond ! "  muttered  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw.  "  I  took  him  to  keep  his  mother  from  starving. 
Andre,"  he  added,  imperiously. 

The  barber  with  the  effeminate  voice  and  the  silky 
hands  turned  from  the  customer  he  was  shaving,  and 
bowed  politely  to  the  magnate  of  the  house  of  Check- 
ynshaw,  Hart,  &  Co. 

"Andre,  my  daughter  Elinora  goes  to  a  juvenile 
party  this  evening,  and  wishes  you  to  dress  her  hair 
at  four  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  with  Mr.  Cutts's  permission,  I  will  attend 
her  at  that  hour." 

Mr.  Checkyushaw  looked  as  though  Mr.  Cutts's  per- 


20  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

mission  was  not  at  all  necessary  when  he  desired  any 
thing;  but  Mi*.  Cutts  did  not  venture  to  interpose  any 
obstacle  to  the  wish  of  a  person  so  influential  as  the 
banker.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  turned  to  leave,  went  as 
far  as  the  door,  and  then  returned. 

"Andre,"  he  continued,  "you  spoke  to  me  of  a  boy 
of  yours." 

"My  adopted  son,  sir,"  replied  the  barber. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  he  is  your  son,  or  your  adopt 
ed  son.  "What  sort  of  a  boy  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  very  good  boy,  sir,"  answered  Andre. 

"Can  he  read  and  write  ?" 

"Very  well  indeed,  sir.  The  master  of  his  school 
says  he  will  take  the  medal  at  the  close  of  the  year." 

"I  shall  discharge  that  puppy,  and  I  want  a  good 
boy  in  his  place.  Send  him  to  me  at  half  past  two 
this  afternoon." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Checkynshaw.  Perhaps 
I  spoke  too  soon,  sir;  but  I  did  not  want  a  place  for 
him  till  next  vacation." 

"  Send  him  up,  and  I  will  talk  with  him,"  said  the 
banker,  imperatively  and  patronizingly,  as  he  hurried 
out  of  the  shop. 


THE   EICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  21 

He  was  met  at  the  door  by  a  girl  of  fifteen,  who 
modestly  stepped  out  of  the  way  to  let  the  magnate 
pass.  She  was  dressed  very  plainly,  but  very  neatly, 
and  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  tin  pail.  The  loud  talk 
of  the  barber's  shop  politicians  and  the  coarse  jests  of 
rude  men  ceased  as  she  walked  behind  the  long  line 
of  chairs  to  that  where  Andre  was  at  work.  She  was 
rather  tall  for  her  age ;  her  face  was  pretty,  and  her 
form  delicately  moulded.  She  was  all  gentleness  and 
grace,  and  rude  men  were  awed  by  her  presence. 

Andre  smiled  as  sweetly  as  a  woman  when  he  saw 
her,  and  his  eye  followed  her  as  she  went  to  the  stove, 
and  placed  the  pail  by  its  side. 

"  Maggie,  send  Leo  to  me  as  soon  as  you  go  home," 
said  he,  in  the  softest  of  his  soft  tones,  as  she  left  the 
shop. 


22  MAKE   OR   BREAK,    OB 


CHAPTER    H. 

BOY   WANTED. 

FROM  the  tin  kettle,  which  Maggie  had  placed 
by  the  stove,  there  arose  an  odor  of  fried  sau 
sages —  a  savory  mess  to  a  hungry  man,  possessed 
of  a  reasonable  amount  of  confidence  in  the  integrity 
and  conscientiousness  of  sausage-makers  in  general. 
Andre  made  himself  as  useful  as  possible  to  his  em 
ployers,  and  they  could  not  well  spare  him  in  the 
middle  of  the  clay  to  go  home  to  his  dinner,  for 
during  'change  hours  the  shop  was  full  of  customers. 
If  there  was  a  lull  any  time  before  three  o'clock,  he 
ate  the  contents  of  the  tin  pail ;  if  not,  he  dined  at 
a  fashionable  hour. 

Andre  could  not  well  be  spared,  because  there 
were  certain  dignified  men,  presidents  of  banks  and 
insurance  companies,  venerable  personages  with  a 
hold  upon  the  last  generation,  who  came  from  their 
homes  in  the  middle  of  the  day  to  read  the  news- 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  23 

papers  at  the  "  China,"  or  the  "  Fireman ; "  staid 
old  merchants,  who  had  retired  from  active  life, 
and  went  to  the  counting-room  only  to  look  after 
the  junior  partners  —  men  who  always  shaved  down 
town,  and  would  not  let  any  barber  but  Andre 
touch  their  faces.  His  hand  was  so  soft  and  silky, 
his  touch  so  tender  and  delicate,  and  his  razors 
were  so  keen  and  skilfully  handled,  that  he  was 
a  favorite  in  the  shop. 

Years  before,  Andre  had  set  up  a  shop  for  him 
self;  but  he  had  no  talent  for  business,  and  the 
experiment  was  a  failure.  He  was  too  effeminate 
to  control  his  journeymen,  and  his  shop  was  not 
well  ordered.  All  his  regular  customers  insisted  on 
being  shaved  by  Andre;  and,  while  he  paid  the 
wages  of  two  men,  he  did  all  the  work  himself. 
The  rent  and  other  expenses  overwhelmed  him ; 
but  he  had  the  good  sense  to  sell  out  before  he 
became  involved  in  debt. 

There  he  was,  in  the  shop  of  Cutts  &  Stropmore, 
and  there  he  was  likely  to  be  —  a  journeyman  bar 
ber  to  the  end  of  his  mortal  pilgrimage.  The  high 
est  wages  were  paid  him;  but  Andre  had  no  am- 


24  MAKE    OB    BREAK,    OK 

bition  to  gratify,  and  when  one  week's  wages  were 
due,  every  cent  of  the  earnings  of  the  preceding 
one  was  invariably  used  up.  If  there  was  a  ten-cent 
piece  left  in  his  pocket  on  Saturday  morning,  he 
took  care  to  spend  it  for  something  to  gratify 
Maggie  or  Leo  before  he  went  to  the  shop.  For 
this  boy  and  girl  —  though  they  were  not  his  own 
children,  or  even  of  any  blood  relation  to  him  —  he 
lived  and  labored  as  lovingly  and  patiently  as 
though  God  had  blessed  him  in  the  paternal  tie. 

Half  an  hour  after  Maggie  left  the  shop  there 
was  a  brief  lull  in  the  business,  and  Andre  seized 
his  kettle,  and  bore  it  to  a  kind  of  closet,  where 
hair  oils,  hair  washes,  and  the  "  Celebrated  Capillary 
Compound "  were  concocted.  With  a  sausage  in 
one  hand  and  a  penny  roll  in  the  other,  he  ate  as 
a  hungry  man  eats  when  the  time  is  short.  Andre's 
appetite  was  good,  and  thus  pleasantly  was  he  em 
ployed  when  Leo,  the  barber's  adopted  son,  entered 
the  laboratory  of  odoriferous  compounds. 

"  Maggie  says  you  want  to  see  me,"  said  Leo. 

The  boy  was  dressed  as  neatly  as  the  barber  him 
self,  but  in  other  respects  he  was  totally  unlike  him. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  25 

He  had  a  sharp,  bright  eye,  and  his  voice  wag 
heavy,  and  rather  guttural,  being  in  the  process  of 
changing,  for  he  was  fifteen  years  old.  On  the 
books  of  the  grammar  school,  where  he  was  a  can 
didate  for  the  highest  honors  of  the  institution,  his 
name  was  recorded  as  Leopold  Maggimore.  If  Leo 
was  his  pet  name,  it  was  not  because  he  bore  any 
resemblance  to  the  lion,  though  he  was  a  bold  fel 
low,  with  no  little  dignity  in  his  expression. 

"I  sent  for  you,  Leo,"  replied  Andre,  when  he 
had  waited  long  enough  after  the  entrance  of  the 
boy  to  enable  us  to  describe  the  youth,  and  himself 
to  dispose  of  the  overplus  of  fried  sausage  in  his 
mouth,  so  that  he  could  utter  the  words  ;  "  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  spoke  to  me  about  you.  He  wishes 
to  see  you  at  half  past  two  o'clock." 

"  Mr.  Checkynshaw  !  "  exclaimed  Leo,  wondering 
what  the  head  of  the  well-known  banking  house 
could  want  with  an  individual  so  insignificant  as 
himself. 

"  He  wants  a  boy." 

"  Does  he  want  me  ?  " 

"I  suppose  he  does." 


26  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"  But,  father,  I  shall  lose  my  medal  if  I  leave 
school  now,"  added  Leo. 

"  You  must  not  leave  now ;  but  you  can  see  Mr. 
Checkynshaw,  and  explain  the  matter  to  him.  He 
is  a  great  man,  and  when  you  want  a  place,  he  may 
be  able  to  help  you." 

"  The  cat  may  look  at  the  king,  and  I  will  go 
and  see  him  ;  but  I  don't  see  what  good  it  will  do. 
Fitz  Wittleworth  is  there." 

"  He  is  to  be  discharged,"  quietly  added  Andre, 
as  he  deposited  half  a  sausage  in  his  mouth. 

"  Fitz  discharged  ! "  exclaimed  Leo,  opening  his 
eyes. 

"  Yes  ;    he  has  been,  or  will  be  to-day." 

"  But  what  will  the  firm  of  Checkynshaw,  Hart, 
&  Co.  do  without  him  ?  Fitz  tells  me  that  he  car 
ries  on  the  concern  himself." 

"  Fitz  is  conceited  ;  and  I  think  the  concern  will 
be  able  to  get  along  without  him." 

"But  he  is   some   relation   to   Mr.   Checkynshaw." 

"  I  think  not ;  the  banker  says  he  took  him  into 
his  office  to  keep  him  from  starving." 

"  Fitz  says  Mr.  Checkynshaw's  first  wife  was  his 
mother's  sister." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  27 

"That  is  not  a  very  near  relation,  and  the  banker 
will  not  tolerate  his  impudence  on  that  account. 
K"o  matter  about  that ;  Mr.  Checkynshaw  wishes 
to  see  you  at  half  past  two.  You  can  tell  him 
about  your  medal,  and  tell  him,  very  respectfully 
and  politely,  that  you  can't  leave  school.  lie  may 
like  the  looks  of  you,  and  help  you  to  a  place 
when  you  do  want  one." 

Andre  did  not  think  it  would  be  possible  for  any 
one  to  see  Leo  without  liking  the  looks  of  him ; 
and  he  was  quite  sure  that  he  would  make  a  fa 
vorable  impression  upon  even  the  cold,  stern  banker. 
A  call-bell  on  the  case  of  Mr.  Cutts  sounded,  and 
Andre  hastened  back  to  the  shop,  having  only  half 
satisfied  the  cravings  of  his  hunger.  A  customer 
was  already  seated  in  his  chair,  and  he  went  to 
work  upon  him,  with  his  thoughts  still  following 
Leo  to  the  banker's  private  office.  He  had  high 
hopes  for  that  boy.  Mr.  Cutts  had  proposed  to 
take  him  as  an  apprentice  to  the  barber's  business; 
but,  while  Andre  had  no  ambition  for  himself,  he 
had  for  Leo,  and  he  would  not  think  of  such  a 
thing  as  permitting  him  to  follow  his  trade,  which, 


28  MAK"R   OR  BREAK,  Ol 

however  nonorsblo  r.nc!  r.seful  die!  not  open  to  the 
youth  the  avenues  of  fame  and  fortune. 

On  this  important  subject  Leo  had  some  views 
of  his  own.  lie  certainly  did  not  wish  to  be  a 
barber,  and  he  was  almost  as  much  opposed  to  be 
ing  a  banker  or  a  merchant.  lie  wished  to  be  a  car 
penter  or  a  machinist.  He  was  born  to  be  a  me 
chanic,  and  all  his  thoughts  were  in  this  direction, 
though  he  had  not  yet  decided  whether  he  pre 
ferred  to  work  in  wood  or  in  iron.  But  his  foster- 
father  had  higher  aspirations  for  him,  and  Leo  had 
not  the  heart  to  disappoint  him,  though  he  continued 
to  hope  that,  before  the  time  came  for  him  to  com 
mence  in  earnest  the  business  of  life,  he  should  be 
able  to  convince  him  that  the  path  to  fame  and  for 
tune  lay  in  the  mechanic  arts  as  well  as  in  com 
merce  and  finance.  Leo  walked  out  into  State 
Street,  and,  by  the  clock  on  the  old  State  House, 
saw  that  it  was  too  early  to  call  upon  the  banker, 

Mr.  Fitzherbert  Wittleworth  did  not  go  to  the 
banker's  office  when  ordered  to  do  so.  He  went 
to  his  mother's  house,  to  tell  her  that  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw  had  threatened  to  discharge  him.  He  had  a 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  29 

long  talk  with  her.  She  was  a  sensible  woman,  and 
reproved  his  self-conceit,  and  insisted  that  he  should 
make  peace  with  the  powerful  man  by  a  humble 
apology. 

"Mother,  you  may  eat  humble  pie  at  the  feet  of 
Mr.  Checkynshaw,  if  you  like;  I  shall  not,"  replied 
Fitz,  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  though  the  brief 
appellative  always  galled  him,  and  the  way  to  reach 
his  heart  was  to  call  him  Mr.  Wittleworth. 

"If  you  get  turned  off,  what  will  become  of  us? 
Your  father  isn't  good  for  anything,  and  what  both 
of  us  can  earn  is  hardly  -enough  to  keep  us  from 
starving,"  answered  the  poor  woman,  whose  spirit  had 
long  before  been  broken  by  poverty,  disappointment, 
and  sorrow. 

"I  would  rather  starve  than  have  the  heel  of  that 
man  on  my  neck.  I  have  done  everything  I  could 
for  the  concern.  I  have  worked  early  and  late,  and 
kept  everything  up  square  in  the  private  office;  but 
there  is  no  more  gratitude  in  that  man  than  there  is 
in  a  truck  horse.  He  don't  even  thank  me  for  it." 

"But  he  pays  you  wages;  and  that's  enough,"  re 
plied  his  more  practical  mother. 


30  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  That  is  not  enough,  especially  when  he  pays 
me  but  five  dollars  a  week.  I  ani  worth  a  thousand 
dollars  a  year,  at  least,  to  the  concern.  Checkyn- 
sha\v  will  find  that  out  after  he  has  discharged 
me,"  added  Mr.  AVittleworth,  pulling  up  his  collar, 
as  was  his  wont  when  his  dignity  was  damaged. 

"  Go  back  to  him ;  tell  him  you  are  soriy  for 
what  you  said,  and  ask  him  to  forgive  you,"  per 
sisted  Mrs.  "NVittleworth.  "This  is  no  time  for  poor 
people  to  be  proud.  The  times  are  so  hard  that 
I  made  only  a  dollar  last  week,  and  if  you  lose 
your  place,  we  must  go  to  the  almshouse." 

"  What's  the  use  of  saying  that,  mother  ? "  con~ 
tinued  the  son.  "  It  seems  to  me  you  take  pride 
in  talking  about  our  poverty." 

"It's  nothing  but  the  truth,"  added  Mrs.  "Wittle- 
worth,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  pale,  thin  face, 
which  was  becoming  paler  and  thinner  every  day, 
for-  she  toiled  far  into  the  night,  making  shirts  at 
eight  cents  apiece.  "I  have  only  fifty  cents  in 
money  left  to  buy  provisions  for  the  rest  of  the 
week." 

"Folks  will  trust  you,"  said  Fitz,  impatiently. 


THE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  31 

"I  don't  want  them  to  trust  me,  if  I  am  not 
to  have  the  means  of  paying  them.  It  was  wrong 
for  you  to  pay  six  cents  to  be  shaved;  it's  silly  and 
ridiculous,  to  say  nothing  of  leaving  the  office  for 
half  an  hour.  You  did  wrong,  and  you  ought  to 
acknowledge  it." 

"  Mother,  I'm  tired  of  this  kind  of  a  life." 

"  So  am  I  ;  but  we  cannot  starve,"  replied  the 
poor  woman,  bitterly.  "  It  is  harder  for  me  than  for 
you,  for  I  was  brought  up  in  plenty  and  luxury, 
and  never  knew  what  it  was  to  want  for  anything 
till  your  father  spent  all  my  property,  and  then  be 
came  a  burden  upon  me.  You  have  been  a  good 
boy,  Fitzherbert,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  disappoint 
me  now." 

"  I  shall  do  everything  I  can  for  you,  mother,  of 
course ;  but  it  is  hard  to  be  ground  down  by  that 
man,  as  I  am." 

The  young  gentleman  said  that  man  with  an  em 
phasis  which  meant  something. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  sighed  the  mother. 

"  Yes,  you  can.  In  my  opinion,  —  and  I  think  I 
understand  the  matter  as  well  as  any  other  man, — 


82  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OR 

in  my  opinion,  Mr.  Checkynshaw  owes  you  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  and  is  keeping  you  out  of  your 
just  due.  That's  what  galls  me,"  added  Fitz,  rap 
ping  the  table  violently  with  his  fist. 

"It  may  be  and  it  may  not  be.  I  don't  know." 
"  I  know !  That  man  is  not  an  honest  man.  I 
know  something  about  his  affairs,  and  if  he  pre 
sumes  to  discharge  me,  I  shall  devote  some  of  my 
valuable  time  to  the  duty  of  ventilating  them." 
"Don't  you  do  any  such  thing,  Fitz." 
"  I  will,  mother !  I  will  find  out  whether  the 
money  belongs  to  you  or  not,"  added  the  young 
man,  decidedly.  "I  have  my  private  opinion  about 
the  matter.  I  know  enough  about  Checkynshaw  to 
feel  certain  that  he  wouldn't  let  fifty  thousand  dol 
lars  slip  through  his  fingers,  if  by  any  trickery  he 
could  hold  on  to  it.  If  he  has  a  daughter  in  France, 
fifteen  years  old,  as  she  must  be,  wouldn't  she  write 
to  him?  Wouldn't  he  write  to  her?  "Wouldn't  he 
go  and  see  her?  Wouldn't  he  send  her  money? 
She  don't  do  it;  he  don't  do  it.  I  do  all  the  post- 
office  business  for  the  firm,  and  no  such  letters  go 
or  come." 


THE   RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.     •  33 

Mr.  Wittleworth  was  very  decided  in  his  "  private 
opinion ; "  but  at  last  he  so  far  yielded  to  the  en 
treaties  of  his  mother  as  to  consent  to  return  to  the 
office,  and  if  Mr.  Checkynshaw  wasn't  savage,  he 
would  apologize.  This  he  regarded  as  a  great  con 
cession,  very  humiliating,  and  to  be  made  only  to 
please  his  mother. 
3 


34  MAKE   OB  BREAK,   OE 


CHAPTER  III. 

MB.    CHECKYXSHAW    IS    VIOLEXT. 

MR.  FITZHERBEET  "VViTTLEWOETii  walked  slowly 
and  nervously  from  his  home  to  the  banking- 
house  in  State  Street.  The  situation  was  just  as  far 
from  pleasant  as  it  could  be.  lie  did  not  wish  to  de 
prive  the  family  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  which  were 
purchased  with  his  meagre  salary,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  it  was  almost  impossible  to  endure  the  tyranny  of 
Mr.  Checkynshaw  on  the  other  hand.  To  a  young 
man  with  so  high  an  opinion  of  himself  as  the  banker's 
clerk  entertained,  the  greatest  privation  to  which  he 
could  be  subjected  was  a  want  of  appreciation  of  his 
personal  character  and  valuable  services. 

The  banker  had  an  utter  contempt  for  him  person 
ally,  and  regarded  his  salary  as  high  at  five  dollars  a 
week,  which  was  indeed  a  high  rate  for  a  young  man 
of  sixteen.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  sat  in  his  private  office, 
adjoining  the  banking-house,  when  Mr.  Wittleworth 


THE    RIOH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  35 

presented  himself.  He  scowled  savagely  as  the  young 
man  entered. 

"  You  have  concluded  to  come  back  —  have  you  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Fitz. 

"  Well,  sir,  you  have  only  come  to  be  discharged ; 
for  I  will  no  longer  have  a  stupid  and  useless  block 
head  about.  I  was  willing  to  tolerate  you  for  your 
mother's  sake  ;  but  I  won't  submit  to  your  impu 
dence." 

Stupid  and  useless  blockhead  !  It  was  no  use  to 
attempt  to  effect  a  reconciliation  with  a  person  who 
had,  or  professed  to  have,  such  an  opinion  of  him. 
Not  even  the  strait  to  which  his  family  was  reduced 
could  justify  him  in  submitting  to  such  abuse. 

"  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  I  don't  allow  any  man  to  insult 
me,"  Fitz  began.  "  I  have  treated  you  like  a  gentle 
man,  and  I  demand  as  much  in  return." 

*'  Insult  you  ?  Impudent  puppy ! "  gasped  Mr. 
Checkynshaw.  "  What  are  we  coining  to  ?  " 

"You  insulted  me  in  a  public  barber's  shop.  Not 
content  with  that,  you  call  me  a  stupid  and  useless 
blockhead  —  me,  sir." 


36  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

"  No  more  of  this !  Take  your  pay,  and  be  gone  ! 
There's  five  dollars,  a  full  week's  salary  for  three 
days'  service,"  added  the  banker,  pushing  a  five-dollar 
bill  across  the  desk  towards  Fitz. 

The  young  man  was  not  too  proud  to  take  it. 

"  Go !  Don't  stop  here  another  minute,"  said  the 
wrathy  banker,  glancing  at  the  clock,  which  now  in 
dicated  the  time  he  had  appointed  for  the  coming 
of  Leo  Maggimore. 

"I  am  not  ready  to  go  just  yet.  I  have  a  demand 
to  make  upon  you.  You  have  defrauded  my  mother 
out  of  a  fortune." 

"  That  will  do !  Not  another  word,"  said  Mr. 
Checkynshaw,  turning  red  in  the  face. 

"My  mother  will  take  steps  to  obtain  her  rights." 

"  Will  you  go  ? "  demanded  the  banker. 

"  No,  sir.  I  will  not  till  I  have  said  what  I  have  to 
say.  You  shall  either  prove  that  your  first  daughter  is 
alive,  or  you  shall  deliver  to  my  mother  the  property." 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  could  not  endure  such  speech  as 
this  from  any  man,  much  less  from  his  discharged 
clerk.  He  rose  from  his  chair,  and  rushed  upon  the 
slender  youth  with  a  fury  worthy  a  more  stalwart  foe. 


THE    EICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  37 

Grasping  him  by  the  collar,  he  dragged  him  out  of 
the  private  office,  through  the  long  entry,  to  the  street, 
and  then  pitched  him  far  out  upon  the  sidewalk.  As 
he  passed  through  the  entry,  Leo  Maggimore  was 
•going  into  the  banking-office.  Not  knowing  the  way, 
he  inquired  of  a  person  he  met  in  the  long  hall. 

Leo  did  not  know  the  banker,  and  was  not  aware 
that  the  excited  gentleman  he  had  seen  was  he ; 
and  he  did  not  recognize  Fitz  in  the  young  man  who 
was  so  violently  hurried  before  him.  He  followed  the 
direction  given  him,  and  reached  the  private  office 
of  the  banker.  Through  an  open  window  he  saw  the 
clerks  and  cashiers  rushing  to  the  door  to  witness  the 
extraordinary  scene  that  was  transpiring  in  the  street. 
Taking  off  his  cap,  he  waited  for  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  Checkynshaw,  who,  he  supposed,  had  also  gone  to 
"  see  the  fun."  As  he  stood  there,  a  jaunty-looking 
individual  hastily  entered  the  office. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  this  person. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Checkynshaw,"  replied  Leo. 

"  Go  through  that  door,  and  you  will  find  him," 
added  the  jaunty-looking  man,  in  hurried  tones. 

Leo,  supposing  the  man  belonged  there,  did  as  he 


38  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

was  directed,  and  inquired  of  an  elderly  clerk,  who 
had  not  left  his  desk,  for  the  banker.  He  was  told 
to  wait  in  the  private  office,  and  he  returned,  as  he 
was  bidden. 

He  found  the  jaunty -looking  person  taking  some 
papers  from  the  safe.  He  put  a  quantity  of  them 
into  the  pockets  of  his  overcoat,  locked  the  heavy 
iron  door,  and  took  out  the  key. 

"  Mr.  Checkynshaw  won't  be  here  again  to-day. 
You  will  have  to  call  to-morrow,"  said  the  man,  in 
sharp  and  decided  business  tones. 

"  lie  sent  for  me  to  come  to-day  at  half  past  two," 
replied  Leo. 

.  "  He  was  unexpectedly  called  away ;  come  again 
to-morrow  at  this  time,"  added  the  jaunty  person, 
briskly. 

"I  can't  come  to-morrow  at  this  hour;  school 
keeps." 

u  Come  at  one,  then,"  replied  the  business  man, 
who  did  not  seem  to  care  whether  school  kept  or  not. 

"  Will  you  tell  him,  sir,  that  I  came  as  he  wished, 
and  will  call  again  at  one  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,  yes.    I  will  tell  him  all  about  it,"  answered 


THE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  39 

the  brisk  personage,  as  he  took  a  small  carpet-bag  in 
his  hand,  and  led  the  way  out  through  the  banking- 
room. 

The  clerks  had  returned  to  their  desks,  and  were 
again  busy  over  their  books  and  papers ;  for  the  ex 
citement  had  subsided,  and  people  went  their  way  as 
though  nothing  had  happened.  The  unwonted  scene 
of  a  man  in  Mr.  Checkynshaw's  position  putting  a 
clerk  out  of  his  office  excited  a  little  comment,  and 
the  banker  had  stopped  in  the  long  hall  to  explain 
to  a  bank  president  the  occasion  of  his  prompt  and 
decisive  action.  Leo  and  the  jaunty  man  passed  him 
as  they  left  the  building ;  but  the  boy  did  not  know 
him  from  Adam. 

"  Where  do  you  live,  my  boy  ?  "  asked  the  jaunty 
man,  coming  up  to  him  when  he  had  crossed  State 
and  entered  Congress  Street. 

"No.  3  Phillimore  Court,"  replied  Leo. 

Pie  had  before  lost  sight  of  the  man,  who,  he  had 
already  concluded,  from  finding  him  in  the  private 
office  and  at  the  safe,  was  one  of  the  partners  in  the 
house  of  Checkynshaw,  Hart,  &  Co.  He  could  not 
imagine  what  a  person  of  so  much  importance  could 


40  MAKE   OR   BREAK,    OR 

want  of  him,  or  how  it  concerned  him  to  know  where 
he  lived. 

"Is  it  far  from  here?" 

"Not  very  far." 

"I  want  the  use  of  a  room  for  five  minutes,  to 
change  my  clothes.  I  live  out  of  town,  and  am  going 
to  New  York  to-night.  Perhaps  your  mother  would 
let  me  have  a  room  for  a  short  time,"  added  the 
person. 

"  I  haven't  any  mother ;  but  you  can  have  my 
room  as  long  as  you  like,"  answered  Leo,  glad  to 
accommodate  so  important  a  person.  "  It  isn't  a  very 
nice  one." 

"  Nice  enough  for  me.     How  far  is  it  ?  " 

"  Close  by  High  Street ;  but  it's  right  on  your  way 
to  the  cars." 

"  Very  well ;  thank  you.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you. 
If  it's  far  off,  I  can  run  up  to  a  hotel,  for  I'm  in  a 
hurry.  I  have  no  time  to  spare." 

The  jaunty  man  walked  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  seemed 
to  be  greatly  excited,  which  Leo  attributed  to  his 
proposed  journey,  or  to  the  pressure  of  his  business. 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Checkynshaw  ? "  asked  the 
man  of  business. 


THE   RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  41 

"No,  sir;  I  never  saw  him  in  my  life,  that  I  know 
of,"  replied  Leo.  "  You  are  one  of  the  partners  — 
are  you  not?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  jaunty  man,  promptly. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Hart,  sir  ?  " 

"That  is  my  name.     How  did  you  know  me  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  you ;  but  I  guessed  it  was  Mr. 
Hart." 

They  hurried  along  in  silence  for  a  few  moments 
more.  Leo  was  thinking,  just  then,  how  it  would  be 
possible  for  Mr.  Hart  to  tell  Mr.  Checkynshaw  that 
he  had  called  that  day,  and  that  he  would  call  at 
one  the  next  day,  if  he  was  going  to  New  Yoi-k  by 
the  afternoon  train.  He  was  quite  sure  Mr.  Hart 
could  not  get  back  in  time  to  tell  the  banker  that 
he  had  obeyed  his  mandate.  He  was  a  little  per 
plexed,  and  he  was  afraid  the  mighty  man  would  be 
angry  with  him  for  not  keeping  the  appointment, 
and  perhaps  visit  the  neglect  upon  his  foster-father. 
Being  unable  to  solve  the  problem  himself,  he  ven 
tured  to  ask  Mr.  Hart  for  a  solution. 

"  It  won't  make  any  difference,  Mr.  Checkynshaw 
will  not  think  of  the  matter  again  till  he  sees  you 


42  MAKE   OR   BREAK,   OR 

tomorrow,"  replied  Mr.  Hart.  "  He  will  have  enough 
to  think  of  when  he  gets  to  the  office  to-morrow 
without  troubling  his  head  about  you." 

"Perhaps,  as  you  are  his  partner,  Mr.  Hart,  you 
can  do  the  business  just  as  well,"  said  Leo. 

"Very  likely  I  can.  What  did  Mr.  Checkynshaw 
want  of  you  ? "  asked  the  partner. 

"He  is  going  to  discharge  Fitz,  and  — " 

"  Discharge  Fitz !  What  is  that  for  ?  "  demanded 
Mr.  Hart,  as  if  very  much  astonished  at  the  intelli 
gence. 

"I  don't  exactly  understand  what  for;  but  he  wants 
me  to  come  in  his  place ;  or  at  least  he  wants  to 
see  me  about  coming." 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  be  a  very  likely  young  fellow, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  suit  us.  I  am  willing 
to  engage  you,  even  after  what  little  I  have  seen 
of  you." 

"But  I  can't  go  yet,  Mr.  Hart,"  interposed  Leo. 

"Why  not?     When  can  you  come?" 

"I  can't  go  till  the  first  of  August ;  that's  what  I 
wanted  to  tell  Mr.  Checkynshaw.  He  was  so  kind 
as  to  think  of  me  when  he  wanted  a  boy ;  and  I 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  43 

want  to  have  it  made  all  right  with  him.  I  expect 
to  take  one  of  the  Franklin  medals  at  the  next  ex 
hibition,  and  if  I  leave  now  I  shall  lose  it." 

"  That's  right,  my  boy ;  stick  to  your  school,  and  I 
will  see  that  you  .  have  a  first-rate  place  when  you 
have  taken  the  medal.  Haven't  we  got  most  to  your 
house  ?  " 

"  Just  round  the  corner,  sir.  I'm  afraid  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  will  not  like  it  because  he  did  not  see 
me  this  afternoon." 

"  He  was  out,  and  it  isn't  your  fault ;  but  I  will 
tell  him  all  about  it  when  I  come  back,  and  he  will 
not  think  of  it  again." 

"But  he  wants  a  boy." 

"Well,  he  can  find  a  hundred  of  them  in  an  hour's 
time ;  and,  as  you  can't  take  the  place,  it  will  make 
no  difference  to  you.  I  will  make  it  all  right  with 
him  so  far  as  you  are  concerned." 

"This  is  my  house,"  said  Leo,  when  they  reached 
the  dwelling  at  No.  3  Phillimore  Court. 

Leo  opened  the  front  door,  —  which  was  indeed 
the  only  door,  —  and  led  the  banker  to  his  own 
room  on  the  second  floor.  The  gentleman  closed 


44  MAKE   OE   BREAK,    OK 

the  door,  and  as  there  was  no  lock  upon  it,  he 
placed  a  chair  against  it  to  serve  as  a  fastening.  He 
did  not  appear  to  be  in  a  very  great  hurry  now, 
and  it  was  evident  that  he  did  not  intend  to  change 
his  clothes;  for,  instead  of  doing  so,  he  took  from 
the  pockets  of  his  overcoat  the  papers  and  packages 
he  had  removed  from  the  safe.  He  broke  the  seals 
on  some  of  the  parcels,  and  opened  the  papers 
they  contained.  He  did  not  stop  to  read  any  of 
them.  In  a  bank  book  he  found  a  package  of  bank 
notes. 

"  Three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"  muttered  he,  as 
he  counted  the  money.  "  A  mean  haul !  " 

He  examined  all  the  papers,  but  no  more  money 
was  discovered.  The  jaunty  man  looked  as  though 
he  was  sorely  disappointed.  He  gathered  up  the 
papers,  rolled  them  together,  and  then  looked  about 
the  little  chamber.  On  one  side  of  it  there  was  a 
painted  chest,  which  contained  Leo's  rather  scanty 
wardrobe.  He  raised  the  lid,  and  thrust  the  bundle 
of  papers  down  to  the  bottom  of  it,  burying  them 
beneath  the  boy's  summer  clothing.  Closing  the 
chest,  he  took  his  carpet-bag,  and  left  the  room. 


THE   RICH   MAN'S    DATTHTER.  45 

Leo  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  entry ;  but  "  Mr. 
Hart"  was  again  in  a  hurry,  and  could  not  do  any 
thing  more  than  say  again  he  would  make  it  all 
right  with  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

Probably  he  did  not  keep  his  promise. 


46  MAKE    OB   BREAK,   OB 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ME.   CHECKYNSHAW   BUSHES. 

MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  felt  that  he  had  fully 
vindicated  his  personal  dignity,  and  that  of 
the  well-known  house  whose  head  he  was.  The  bank 
president  he  met  in  the  entry  did  not  think  so,  but 
believed  that  a  person  of  such  eminent  gravity  ought 
to  call  a  policeman,  instead  of  making  himself  ridicu 
lous  by  resorting  to  violence.  The  banker  explained, 
and  then  returned  to  his  office.  He  was  alone ;  and, 
seating  himself  in  his  cushioned  chair,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  the  reflections  of  the  moment,  whatever  they 
were. 

Whether  the  grave  charges  and  the  angry  threats 
of  Mr.  Fitzherbert  Wittleworth  were  the  subject  of 
his  thoughts  was  known  only  to  himself;  but  as  he 
reflected,  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  moved  about,  his 
brow  contracted,  and  he  seemed  to  be  mentally  de 
fending  himself  from  the  charges,  and  repelling  the 


THE    RICH    MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  47 

threats.  Certainly  the  bold  accusation  of  the  banker's 
late  clerk  had  produced  an  impression,  and  stirred  up 
the  anger  of  the  great  man ;  but  it  was  very  impoli 
tic  for  the  discharged  clerk  to  "  beard  the  lion  in  his 
den." 

The  safe  in  the  private  office  contained  the  valuable 
papers  of  the  banker,  while  those  of  the  firm  whose 
head  he  was  were  placed  in  the  vaults  of  the  great 
banking-room.  He  kept  the  key  of  this  safe  himself. 
If  it  ever  went  into  the  hands  of  the  clerk,  it  was  only 
to  bring  it  from  the  lock-drawer  in  the  vaults;  he  was 
never  trusted  to  deposit  it  there.  Mr.  Checkynshaw 
did  not  look  at  the  safe  till  he  had  thoroughly  digested 
the  affair  which  had  just  transpired.  When  he  was 
ready  to  go  home  to  dinner,  just  before  three  o'clock, 
he  went  to  the  safe  to  lock  it,  and  secure  the  key 
where  prying  curiosity  could  not  obtain  it. 

It  was  not  in  the  door,  where  he  had  left  it;  but 
this  did  not  startle  him.  His  thoughts  appeared  to 
be  still  abstracted  by  the  subject  which  had  occupied 
them  since  the  affray,  and  he  was  walking  mechani 
cally  about  the  office.  He  went  to  the  safe  as  much 
from  the  force  of  habit  as  for  any  reason,  for  he  always 
secured  it  when  he  was  about  to  leave. 


48  MAKE    OR   BKEAK,    OR 

"Charles!"  he  called,  raising  one  of  the  ground-glass 
windows  between  the  office  and  the  banking-room. 

The  door  opened,  and  one  of  the  younger  clerks 
presented  himself. 

"Bring  me  the  key  of  this  safe  from  ray  drawer  in 
the  vault." 

Charles  bowed,  and  Mr.  Cheeky  nsh  aw  continued  to 
walk  back  and  forth,  absorbed  in  thought. 

"The  key  of  the  safe  is  not  in  the  drawer,  sir," 
replied  the  clerk. 

The  banker  tried  the  safe  door,  and  then  felt  in  all 
his  pockets.  The  safe  was  locked,  but  he  had  not  the 
key.  He  went  to  the  vault  himself,  but  with  no  better 
success  than  the  clerk  had  had. 

M  The  puppy !  "  muttered  the  banker.  "  He  has 
stolen  that  key!" 

Mr.  Checkynshaw's  lips  were  compressed,  and  his 
teeth  were  set  tight  together.  He  paced  the  room 
more  rapidly  than  before. 

"Fudge!"  exclaimed  he,  after  he  had  worked  him 
self  into  a  state  of  partial  frenzy,  as  the  hard  mus 
cles  of  his  face  suddenly  relaxed,  and  something 
like  a  smile  rested  upon  his  lips.  "He  couldn't  have 
done  it." 


THE    KICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  49 

Certainly  not.  The  banker  had  not  opened  the 
safe  till  after  his  return  from  the  barber's  shop,  where 
he  had  reproved  his  clerk,  and  Fitz  did  not  go  neai* 
the  safe  during  the  sharp  interview  in  the  office. 

"Burnet,"  said  the  banker,  going  to  the  open 
window. 

This  time  the  elderly  man,  to  whom  Leo  Maggi- 
more  had  applied,  presented  himself. 

"Have  you  seen  the  key  of  my  safe?"  demanded 
Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

"No,  sir." 

"Where  is  it,  then?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir,"  replied  Burnet,  whose  commu 
nications  were  always  "  yea,  yea ;  nay,  nay." 

"  I  have  discharged  Fitz." 

Burnet  bowed. 

"  He  was  saucy.'* 

Burnet  bowed  again. 

"I  kicked  him  out  for  his  impudence." 

Burnet  bowed  a  third  time. 

"My  key  is  gone." 

Burnet  waited. 

"  But  the  safe  is  locked." 
4 


60  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

Burnet  glanced  at  the  safe. 

"  Who  has  been  in  my  office  ?  " 

"A  boy,  sir." 

"Who?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir;  he  asked  for  you.  I  sent  him 
to  your  office." 

"  That  was  the  barber's  boy." 

Burnet  bowed :  he  never  wasted  words ;  never  left 
his  desk  to  see  a  row  or  a  military  company,  and 
would  not  have  done  so  if  an  earthquake  had  torn  up 
the  pavement  of  State  Street,  so  long  as  the  banking- 
house  of  Checkynshaw,  Hart,  &  Co.  was  undisturbed. 

"  Who  else  ?  "  asked  the  banker. 

"A  man,  sir." 

"Who?" 

"I  don't  know;  he  entered  by  your  private  door; 
the  boy  and  the  man  went  out  together." 

"  Send  for  the  safe  people." 

Burnet  bowed,  and  retired.  In  half  an  hour  two 
;nen  from  the  safe  manufactory  appeared.  They 
opened  the  iron  door,  and  the  banker  tinned  pale 
when  he  found  that  his  valuable  papers  had  been 
abstracted.  The  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  which 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTEB.  51 

"Mr.  Hart"  had  taken  was  of  no  consequence,  com 
pared  with  the  documents  that  were  missing;  for 
they  were  his  private  papers,  on  which  other  eyes 
than  his  own  must  not  look. 

The  safe  men  fitted  a  new  key,  altering  the  wards 
of  the  lock,  so  that  the  old  one  would  not  open  the 
door.  "What  remained  of  the  papers  were  secured; 
but  those  that  were  gone  were  of  more  importance 
than  those  that  were  left.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  groaned 
in  spirit.  The  threats  of  Mr.  Fitzherbert  Wittleworth 
seemed  to  have  some  weight  now,  and  that  young 
gentleman  suddenly  became  of  more  consequence  than 
he  had  ever  been  before.  Fitz  could  not  have  stolen 
these  papers  himself,  but  he  might  have  been  a  party 
to  the  act. 

"  Btirnet !  "  called  the  banker. 

The  old  clerk  came  again.  Nothing  ever  excited 
or  disturbed  him,  and  that  was  what  made  him  so 
reliable  as  a  financial  clerk  and  cashier.  He  never 
made  any  mistakes,  never  overpaid  any  one,  and  his 
cash  always  "balanced." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  My  private  papers  have  been 
stolen!"  said  the  banker,  nervously.  "Who  was  the 
man  that  came  out  of  the  office  ? " 


52  MAKE    OE    BREAK,   OB 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  What  was  he  like  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Checkynshaw, 
impatiently. 

"  Well-dressed,  rowdyish,  foppish." 

"  And  the  boy  ?  " 

"  Fourteen  or  fifteen  —  looked  well." 

"  Send  for  Andre  Maggimore,  the  barber." 

Burnet  bowed  and  retired.  Charles  was  sent  to  the 
saloon  of  Cutts  &  Stropmore  ;  but  it  was  four  o'clock, 
and  Andre  had  gone  to  dress  the  hair  of  Elinora 
Checkynshaw.  The  banker  was  annoyed,  vexed,  angry. 
He  wanted  to  see  the  boy  who  had  left  the  office  with 
the  man  "  well-dressed,  rowdyish,  foppish."  He  did 
not  know  where  Leo  lived,  and  the  barber  had  no 
business  to  be  where  he  could  not  put  his  hand  on 
him  when  wanted.  Impatiently  he  drew  on  his  over 
coat,  rushed  out  of  the  office,  and  rushed  into  the  shop 
of  Cutts  &  Stropmore.  Mr.  Cutts  did  not  know  where 
Andre  lived,  and  Mr.  Stropmore  did  not  know.  Andre 
was  always  at  the  shop  when  he  was  wanted  there, 
and  they  had  no  occasion  to  know  where  he  lived. 
Probably  they  had  known ;  if  they  had,  they  had  for 
gotten.  It  was  somewhere  in  High  Street,  or  in  some 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  T)3 

street  or  court  that  led  out  of  High  Street,  or  some 
where  near  High  Street;  at  any  rate,  High  Street  was 
in  the  direction. 

There  was  nothing  in  this  very  definite  information 
that  afforded  Mr.  Checkynshaw  a  grain  of  comfort. 
He  was  excited ;  but,  without  telling  the  barbers  what 
the  matter  was,  he  rushed  up  State  Street,  up  Court 
Street,  up  Pemberton  Square,  to  his  residence.  He 
wanted  a  carriage ;  but  of  course  there  was  no  car 
riage  within  hailing  distance,  just  because  he  hap 
pened  to  want  one.  He  reached  his  home  out  of 
breath;  but  then  his  key  to  the  night-latch  would  not 
fit,  just  because  he  was  excited  and  in  a  hurry. 

He  rang  the  bell  furiously.  Lawrence,  the  man 
servant,  was  eating  his  dinner,  and  he  stopped  to  finish 
his  pudding.  The  banker  rang  again ;  but  Lawrence, 
concluding  the  person  at  the  door  was  a  pedler,  with 
needles  or  a  new  invention  to  sell,  finished  the  pud 
ding  —  pedlers  ring  with  so  much  more*  unction  than 
other  people.  The  banker  rang  again.  Fortunately 
for  the  banker,  more  fortunately  for  himself,  Lawrence 
had  completely  disposed  of  the  pudding,  and  went  to 
the  door. 


54  MAKE    OR    BREAK,   OB 

"What  are  you  about,  you  blockhead?  Why  don't 
you  open  the  door  when  I  ring  ?  "  stormed  the  banker. 

"I  think  the  bell  must  be  out  of  order,  sir,"  pleaded 
Lawrence,  who  had  heard  it  every  time  it  rang. 

"Go  and  get  a  carriage,  quick!  If  you  are  gone 
five  minutes  I'll  discharge  you!"  added  the  great 
man,  fiercely,  as  he  rushed  into  the  parlor. 

"You  are  late  to  dinner,"  said  Mrs.  Checkynshaw. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  dinner!  Where  is  Eli- 
nora  ?  " 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  lady,  not  a 
little  alarmed  by  the  violent  manner  of  the  husband. 

"  Matter  enough  !  Where  is  Elinora  ?  Answer  me, 
and  don't  be  all  day  about  it ! " 

"In  her  dressing-room.  Andre,  the  hair-dresser/ is 
with  her." 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  rushed  up  stairs,  and  rushed  into 
the  apartment  where  Andre  was  curling  the  hair  of  a 
pale,  but  rather  pretty  young  lady  of  twelve.  His 
abrupt  appearance  and  his  violent  movements  startled 
the  nervous  miss,  so  that,  in  turning  her  head  sud 
denly,  she  brought  one  of  her  ears  into  contact  with 
the  hot  curling-tongs  with  which  the  barber  was 
operating  upon  her  flowing  locks. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  55 

"O,  dear!  Mercy!  You  have  killed  mo,  Andre!" 
screamed  Elinora,  as  her  father  bolted  into  the  room. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Checkynshaw,"  pleaded 
Andre. 

"  You  have  burned  me  to  death  !  How  you  fright 
ened  me,  pa ! "  gasped  the  young  lady. 

"  Mind  what  you  are  about,  Andre  ! "  exclaimed  the 
banker,  sternly,  as  he  examined  the  ear,  which  was  not 
badly  damaged. 

"  The  young  lady  moved  her  head  suddenly.  It 
was  really  not  my  fault,  sir,"  added  Andre. 

"  Yes,  it  was  your  fault,  Andre,"  replied  Elinora, 
petulantly.  "  You  mean  to  burn  me  to  death." 

"  I  assure  you,  mademoiselle  —  " 

"Where  do  you  live,  Andre?"  demanded  the  banker, 
interrupting  him. 

"Phillimore  Court,  No.  3,"  replied  the  barber. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  there  with  me  at  once,"  bustled 
the  banker.  "  Is  your  boy  —  What's  his  name  ?  " 

"Leo,  sir." 

"  Leo.     Is  he  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is.     Do  you  wish  to  see  him,  sir?" 

"  I  do.     Come  with  me,  and  be  quick  !  " 


56  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  Leo  would  not  be  able  to  serve  you,  sir ;  he  cannot 
leave  his  school." 

"I  want  to  see  him;  my  safe  has  been  robbed,  and 
your  boy  was  with  the  man  who  did  it." 

"Leo!"  gasped  the  barber,  dropping  his  hot  iron 
npon  the  floor,  and  starting  back,  as  though  a  bolt  of 
lightning  had  blasted  him. 

"Yes;  but  come  along!  I  tell  you  I'm  in  a  hurry!" 
snapped  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

"He  can't  go  now,  pa,"  interposed  the  daughter. 
"He  must  finish  dressing  my  hair." 

"He  shall  return  in  a  short  time,  Elinora,"  replied 
the  banker. 

"  He  shall  not  go ! "  added  she,  decidedly,  and  with 
an  emphasis  worthy  of  an  only  daughter. 

"Leo!"  murmured  the  poor  barber,  apparently 
crushed  by  the  terrible  charge  against  the  boy. 

"No.  3  Phillimore  Court,  you  say,"  continued  the 
banker,  as  he  moved  towards  the  door,  yielding  to 
the  whim  of  the  spoiled  child. 

The  barber  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  rolled  up  in 
his  head ;  he  staggered  and  fell  upon  the  floor.  Eli 
nora  shrieked  in  terror,  and  was  hurried  from  the 
room  by  her  father. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  57 


CHAPTER    V. 

LEO   MAGGIMORE. 

ANDRE  MAGGIMORE  had  an  apoplectic  fit> 
Perhaps  the  immense  dinner  he  had  eaten  in 
the  shop  had  some  connection  with  his  malady;  but 
the  shock  he  received  when  the  banker  told  him 
that  Leo  was  implicated  in  the  robbery  of  the  safe 
was  the  immediate  exciting  cause.  Andre  was  a 
great  eater,  and  took  but  little  exercise  in  the  open 
air,  and  was  probably  predisposed  to  the  disease. 
The  dark  shadow  of  trouble  which  the  banker's 
words  foreboded  disturbed  the  circulation,  and  has 
tened  what  might  otherwise  have  been  longer  re 
tarded. 

Doubtless  Mr.  Checkynshaw  thought  it  was  very 
inconsiderate  in  Andre  Maggimore  to  have  an  attack 
of  apoplexy  in  his  house,  in  the  presence  of  his  ner 
vous  daughter,  and  especially  when  he  was  in  such 
a  hurry  to  ascertain  what  had  become  of  his  valuable 


58  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

private  papers.  If  the  banker  was  excited  before, 
he  was  desperate  now.  He  rang  the  bells  furiously, 
and  used  some  strong  expressions  because  the  ser 
vants  did  not  appear  as  soon  as  they  were  sum 
moned. 

Lawrence  had  gone  for -the  carriage,  and  one  of 
the  female  servants  was  sent  for  the  doctor.  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  handed  his  daughter  over  to  her  moth 
er,  who  also  thought  it  was  very  stupid  for  the  barber 
to  have  a  fit  before  such  a  nervous  miss  as  Elinora. 
The  banker  returned  to  the  room  in  which  Andre  lay. 
He  turned  him  over,  and  wished  he  was  anywhere 
but  in  his  house,  which  was  no  place  for  a  sick  bar 
ber.  But  the  doctor  immediately  came  to  his  relief. 
He  examined  the  patient ;  Andre  might  live,  and 
might  die  —  a  valuable  opinion;  but  the  wisest  man 
could  have  said  no  more. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  could  not  afford  to  be  bothered 
by  the  affair  any  longer.  He  had  pressing  business 
on  his  hands.  He  directed  the  doctor  to  do  all 
that  was  necessary,  and  to  have  his  patient  removed 
to  his  own  residence  as  soon  as  practicable.  After 
assuring  himself  that  Elinora  had  neither  been  burned 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  59 

to  death  nor  frightened  to  death,  he  stepped  into 
the  carriage,  and  ordered  the  driver  to  take  him  to 
ISTo.  3  PMllimore  Court. 

The  banker  was  very  much  annoyed  by  the  awk 
wardness  of  the  circumstances.  He  judged  from 
what  Andre  had  said,  that  he  was  much  attached 
to  his  foster-son,  and  he  concluded  that  Leo  was 
equally  interested  in  his  foster-father.  It  was  not 
pleasant  to  tell  the  boy  that  the  barber  had  fallen 
in  a  fit,  and  might  die  from  the  effects  of  it ;  and 
if  he  did,  Leo  might  not  be  able  to  give  him  the 
information  he  needed.  It  would  confuse  his  mind, 
and  overwhelm  him  with  grief.  Mr.  Checkynshaw 
could  not  see  why  poor  people  should  grieve  at  the 
sickness  or  death  of  their  friends,  though  it  was  a 
fact  they  did  so,  just  like  rich  people  of  sensibility 
and  cultivation. 

He  thought  of  this  matter  as  the  driver,  in  obe 
dience  to  his  mandate,  hurried  him  to  Phillimore 
Court.  If  he  told  Leo,  there  would  be  an  awkward 
scene,  and  he  would  be  expected  to  comfort  the 
poor  boy,  instead  of  worming  out  of  him  the  dry 
facts  of  the  robbery.  If  he  had  ever  heard  of  Mag- 


60  MAKE    O*R   BREAK,    OK 

gie,  he  had  forgotten  all  about  her.  Had  he  thought 
of  her,  the  circumstances  would  have  appeared  still 
more  awkward.  He  had  already  decided  not  to  in 
form  Leo  of  the  sudden  illness  of  his  father.  When 
he  reached  the  humble  abode  of  the  barber,  and  his 
summons  at  the  door  was  answered  by  the  fair  Mag 
gie,  he  was  the  more  determined  not  to  speak  of 
the  calamity  which  had  befallen  them. 

Leo  was  at  home ;  but  it  would  be  disagreeable 
to  examine  him  in  his  own  house,  and  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Maggie.  He  changed  his  tactics  at  once, 
and  desired  the  boy  to  ride  up  to  his  office  with 
him.  Leo  wondered  what  Mr.  Checkynshaw  could 
want  of  him  at  that  time  of  day.  It  was  strange 
that  a  person  of  his  consequence  had  thought  of 
him  at  all;  and  even  "Mr.  Hart"  had  proved  to 
be  a  false  prophet.  He  concluded  that  the  banker 
had  discharged  Fitz,  and  needed  a  boy  at  once  ; 
but  the  gentleman  was  too  imperative  to  be  denied, 
and  Leo  did  not  venture  to  object  to  anything  he 
proposed.  He  followed  the  great  man  into  the  car 
riage,  and  regarded  it  as  a  piece  of  condescension 
on  his  part  to  permit  a  poor  boy  like  him  to  ride  in 
the  same  vehicle  with  him. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  61 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  did  not  speak  till  the  carriage 
stopped  before  the  banking-house  in  State  Street ; 
and  Leo  was  too  much  abashed  by  the  lofty  pres 
ence  of  the  great  man  to  ask  any  question,  or  to 
open  the  subject  which  he  supposed  was  to  be  dis 
cussed  in  the  private  office.  He  followed  the  banker 
into  that  apartment,  thinking  only  of  the  manner 
in  which  he  should  decline  to  enter  the  service  of 
his  intended  employer  before  the  completion  of  his 
school  year. 

"  Burnet,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  opening  the 
window  of  the  banking-room. 

The  old  cashier  entered,  and  bowed  deferentially 
to  the  head  of  the  house. 

"  Send  for  Mr.  Clapp,"  added  the  banker ;  and 
Burnet  bowed  and  retired,  like  an  approved  courtier. 

Leo  was  not  at  all  familiar  with  the  police  rec 
ords,  and  had  not  learned  that  Mr.  Clapp  was  the 
well-known  constable,  —  the  "Old  Reed"  or  the 
"Old  Hayos"  of  his  day  and  generation,  —  and  the 
name  had  no  terrors  to  him. 

"  Boy,  what  is  your  name  ? "  demanded  Mr. 
Checkynshaw,  when  the  door  had  closed  behind 
the  cashier. 


62  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OR 

"Leopold  Mnggimore,  sir,''  replied  he. 

"Leopold,"  repeated  the  banker. 

"I  am  generally  called  Leo,  sir." 

"  Did  the  barber  —  your  father,  if  he  is  your 
father  —  send  you  to  my  office  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  sent  me,  and  I  came ;  but  you  were 
not  in." 

"  Why  didn't  you  wait  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  was  told  you  would  not  be  back  again  to 
day,  sir." 

"  What  time  were  you  here  ?  " 

"At  half  past  two,  sir.  There  was  some  trouble 
in  the  entry  at  the  time.  A  gentleman  had  a 
young  fellow  by  the  collar,  and  was  putting  him 
out  of  the  building." 

"  Just  so.     Who  was  the  gentleman  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  sir;   I  didn't  see  his  face." 

"I  was  that  gentleman." 

"  I  didn't  know  it,  sir.  It  was  just  half  past  two, 
and  I  wanted  to  be  on  time." 

"  Who  told  you  I  should  not  be  back  again  ? w 
demanded  the  banker  more  sternly  than  he  had  be 
fore  spoken. 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  63 

"Mr.  Hart,"  replied  Leo,  who  regarded  his  inform 
ant  as  excellent  authority. 

"  Mr.  Hart !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  staring 
into  the  bright  eyes  of  Leo  to  detect  any  appear' 
ance  of  deception. 

The  banker  prided  himself  upon  his  shrewdness. 
He  believed  that,  if  there  was  any  person  in  the 
world  who  was  peculiarly  qualified  to  expose  the 
roguery  of  a  suspected  individual,  he  was  that  per 
son.  In  conducting  the  present  examination  he. 
only  wanted  Derastus  Clapp  for  the  terror  of  his 
name,  rather  than  his  professional  skill  as  a  de 
tective. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  believed  that  he  had  intrapped 
his  victim.  Mr.  Hart  could  not  have  told  Leo  that 
the  head  of  the  house  would  not  return  to  the 
office  that  day,  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  Mr. 
Hart  was  dead  and  gone.  The  old  style  of  the 
firm  was  retained,  but  the  Hart  was  gone  out  of  it. 
The  boy  was  telling  a  wrong  story,  and  the  banker 
laid  his  toils  for  unveiling  the  details  of  a  gigantic 
conspiracy.  Fitz  lived  somewhere  in  the  vicinity 
of  High  Street,  —  Mr.  Checkynshaw  did  not  know 


64  MAKE    OB   BKEAK,    OB 

where,  for  it  would  not  be  dignified  for  a  great  man 
like  him  to  know  where  his  clerk  resided,  —  and  it 
was  more  than  possible  that  Leo  and  he  were  ac 
quainted.  Yery  likely  the  innocent-looking  youth 
before  him  was  an  accomplice  of  Fitz,  who,  since 
the  disappearance  of  the  papers,  had  really  become 
a  terrible  character. 

"Yes,  sir;  Mr.  Hart  told  me,"  repeated  Leo,  who 
could  not  see  anything  so  very  strange  in  the  cir 
cumstance. 

"  Mr.  Hart  told  you !  "  said  the  banker,  again,  en- 
devoring  to  overwhelm  the  boy  by  the  intensity  of 
his  gaze. 

"Yes,  sir,  Mr.  Hart." 

"Was  Mr.  Hart  in  this  office?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  was  Mr.  Hart  doing?" 

"He  wasn't  doing  anything.  I  was  standing  here 
waiting  for  you  when  he  came  in." 

"  Which  way  did  he  come  in  ? "  interrupted  the 
banker. 

"  The  same  way  •  we  did  just  now,"  added  Leo, 
pointing  to  the  door  which  opened  into  the  long 
entry. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  65 

"  Very  well ;  go  on." 

"  He  told  me  to  go  into  the  big  room,"  continued 
Leo,  pointing  to  the  banking-room.  "I  went  in 
there,  and  asked  the  man  that  just  came  in  here 
for  you." 

"  You  asked  Burnet  for  me  ?  " 

"I  didn't  know  what  his  name  was;  but  it  was 
the  man  you  just  called  in  here." 

"  Burnet ;   go  on." 

"  He  told  me  to  come  in  here  and  wait  for  you." 

"Burnet  told  you  so?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  when  I  came  back,  Mr.  Hart  was 
taking  some  papers  and  things  from  that  safe,  and 
putting  them  in  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat.  Then 
he  locked  the  safe,  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  excited  by  these 
details. 

"  Then  Mr.  Hart  told  me  Mr.  Checkynshaw  would 
not  be  in  again  to-day,  and  I  must  come  again  to 
morrow." 

"What  then?" 

"I  went  out  through  the  big  room,  and  he  came 
right  after  me." 
5 


66  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

Leo,  without  knowing  why  he  was  required  to 
do  so,  described  in  full  all  that  had  taken  place 
after  he  left  the  banking-room  till  "  Mr.  Hart "  had 
changed  his  clothes,  and  left  the  house  of  Andre. 

"  How  did  you  know  this  person  was  Mr.  Hart  ?  " 
asked  the  banker. 

"  He  told  me  so,  sir.  I  asked  him  before  we  got 
to  my  house  if  he  was  Mr.  Hart,  and  he  said  he 
was.  When  he  told  me  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  not 
in,  and  I  saw  him  take  the  things  out  of  the  safe, 
and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  I  knew  he  belonged 
here,  and  being  in  this  office,  I  guessed  it  was  Mr. 
Hart.  He  promised  to  get  me  a  good  place  when 
I  leave  school,  and  to  explain  the  matter  to  you, 
and  make  it  all  right,  when  he  came  back  from 
New  York." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  do  so,"  added  Mr.  Checkynshaw, 
with  a  sneer. 

But  the  banker  was  completely  "  nonplussed." 
He  found  it  difficult  to  believe  that  this  boy  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  robbery  of  his  safe.  At 
this  point  in  the  investigation,  Mr.  Clapp  arrived. 
It  was  now  quite  dark.  Most  of  the  clerks  in  the 


THE    RICH    MAX'S    DAUGHTER.  67 

banking-room  had  left ;  but  Burnet  was  called,  and 
instructed  to  remain  with  Leo,  while  the  banker  and 
the  detective  held  a  conference  in  the  next  room. 
Leo  could  not  tell  what  it  was  all  about.  Not  a 
word  had  been  said  about  a  boy  to  fill  Fitz's  place 
He  asked  Burnet  what  Mr.  Checkynshaw  wanted 
of  him;  but  the  cashier  was  dumb. 

After  the  banker  had  told  the  officer  all  about 
the  affair,  they  went  into  the  private  office,  and 
Leo  was  subjected  to  a  long  and  severe  questioning. 
Then  he  learned  that  "  Mr.  Hart "  was  not  Mr. 
Hart,  and  that  the  safe  had  been  plundered.  He 
was  filled  with  astonishment,  not  to  say  horror ;  but 
every  answer  he  gave  was  straightforward,  and  at 
the  end  of  it  the  skilled  detective  declared  that  he 
had  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  robbery. 

"  Do  you  know  Fitz  Wittleworth  ? "  demanded 
Mr.  Checkynshaw,  sharply. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  he  ever  say  anything  to  you  about  me?" 

"  I  have  heard  him  call  you  Old  Checkynshaw ; 
but  he  never  said  anything  that  I  can  remember, 
except  that  you  couldn't  get  along  in  your  business 
without  him." 


68  MAKE    OB   BREAK,    OK 

"  Did  he  ever  say  anything  about  any  papers  of 
mine  ?  "  asked  the  banker,  scowling  fiercely. 

«  No,  sir." 

The  banker  plied  Leo  with  questions  in  this  di 
rection ;  but  he  failed  to  elicit  anything  which  con 
firmed  his  fears.  A  carriage  was  called,  and  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  and  the  constable,  taking  Leo  with 
them,  were  driven  to  the  house  of  the  barber. 


THE   KICK   MAN'S   DAUGHTEB.  69 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LEO'S  WORKSHOP. 

WHEN  the  banker  and  the  detective  reached 
the  barber's  house,  the  supper  table  was 
waiting  for  Andre  and  Leo.  Perhaps  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw  wondered  how  even  a  poor  man  could  live 
in  such  a  small  house,  with  such  "  little  bits  of 
rooms."  It  had  been  built  to  fill  a  corner,  and  it 
fitted  very  snugly  in  its  place.  Andre  thought  it 
was  the  nicest  house  in  Boston,  and  for  many  years 
it  had  been  a  palace  to  him. 

It  contained  only  four  rooms,  two  on  each  floor, 
The  two  rooms  up  stairs  were  appropriated  to  tha 
use  of  Majjjjie  and  Leo.  The  front  room  down 

OO 

stairs  was  required  to  do  double  duty,  as  a  parlor, 
and  a  sleeping-room  for  Andre  ;  but  the  bedstead 
was  folded  up  into  a  secretary  during  the  day.  In 
the  rear  of  this  was  the  "  living  room."  In  the 
winter  the  parlor  was  not  used,  for  the  slendei 


70  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

income  of  the  barber  would  not  pei'mit  him  to  keep 
two  fires.  In  this  apartment,  which  served  as  a 
kitchen,  dining  and  sitting  room,  was  spread  the 
table  which  waited  for  Andre  and  Leo. 

The  barber  almost  always  came  home  before  six 
o'clock;  for,  in  the  vicinity  of  State  Street,  all  is 
quiet  at  this  hour,  and  the  shop  was  closed.  Maggie 
sat  before  the  stove,  wondering  why  Andre  did  not 
come;  but  she  was  not  alarmed  at  his  non-appear 
ance,  for  occasionally  he  was  called  away  to  dress 
a  lady's  hair,  or  to  render  other  "  professional  "  ser 
vice  at  the  houses  of  the  customers.  Certainly  she 
had  no  suspicion  of  the  fearful  truth. 

She  was  rather  startled  when  the  unexpected  vis 
itors  were  ushered  into  the  room  by  Leo ;  but  the 
detective  was  gentle  as  a  lamb,  and  even  the  bank 
er,  in  the  presence  of  one  so  fair  and  winning  as 
Maggie,  was  not  disposed  to  be  rude  or  rough. 
Mr.  Clapp  asked  some  questions  about  the  man 
who  had  come  to  the  house  that  afternoon,  and 
gone  up  to  Leo's  room.  She  had  seen  him,  and 
her  description  of  his  appearance  and  his  move 
ments  did  not  differ  from  that  of  her  brother.  No 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  71 

new  light  was  obtained  ;  but  Mr.  Clapp  desired  to 
visit  the  apartment  which  "  Mr.  Hart "  had  used. 

Leo  conducted  the  visitors  to  this  room.  It  was 
possible,  if  the  robber  had  changed  his  clothes  there, 
that  he  had  left  something  which  might  afford  some 
clew  to  his  identity.  The  detective  searched  the 
chamber,  but  not  very  carefully.  As  he  did  so,  he 
told  Leo  that  he  desired  to  clear  him  from  any 
connection  with  the  crime. 

"  I  hadn't  anything  to  do  with  it,  and  I  don't 
know  anything  about  the  man,"  replied  Leo,  blush 
ing  deeply. 

"  I  don't  think  you  had,  my  boy,"  added  the 
officer,  candidly.  "  But  this  man  may  have  hidden 
something  in  the  house,  without  your  knowledge." 

"I  hope  you  will  find  it  if  he  did.  You  may 
search  the  house  from  cellar  to  garret,  if  you  like ; 
but  he  didn't  go  into  any  room  but  this  one." 

"  How  long  was  he  in  this  room  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  twenty  minutes,  I  guess ;  I  don't 
know." 

"Where  were  you  while  he  was  here?" 

"I  was  down  cellar." 


72  MAKE    OB    BBEAK,    OR, 

"  Down  cellar ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 
"All  the  time  he  was  in  the  room?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  were  you  doing  there?" 

"  I  was  at  work  there.  When  I  heard  Mr.  Hart, 
or  the  man,  whatever  his  name  is,  coming  down 
stairs,  I  went  up  and  met  him  in  the  entry.  You 
can  go  down  cellar,  if  you  like." 

"I  think  we  will,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

The  detective  looked  into  the  bed,  under  it,  in 
the  closets,  drawers,  and  into  the  seaman's  chest 
which  contained  Leo's  wardrobe.  He  did  not  ex 
pect  to  find  anything,  and  his  search  was  not  very 
thorough.  He  examined  the  till,  and  felt  in  the 
clothing;  but  he  did  not  put  his  hand  down  deep 
enough  to  find  the  papers  the  robber  had  deposited 
there.  If  the  rogue  had  left  anything,  he  had  no 
object  in  concealing  it ;  and  Mr.  Clapp  reasoned 
that  he  would  be  more  likely  to  leave  it  in  sight 
than  to  hide  it. 

When  the  search  had  been  finished  in  the  room, 
and  the  result  was  as  the  detective  anticipated,  Leo 
led  the  way  to  the  cellar.  Here  was  presented  to 


THE    EICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  73 

the  visitors  a  complete  revelation  of  the  boy's 
character  and  tastes  —  a  revelation  which  assured 
the  skilful  detective,  deeply  versed  as  he  was  in 
a  knowledge  of  human  nature,  that  Leo  was  not  a 
boy  to  be  in  league  with  bad  men,  or  knowingly 
to  assist  a  robber  in  disposing  of  his  ill-gotten  booty. 

The  cellar  or  basement  was  only  partly  under 
ground,  and  there  was  room  enough  for  two  pretty 
large  windows  at  each  end,  the  front  and  rear  of 
the  house,  and  in  the  daytime  the  apartment  was 
as  light  and  cheerful  as  the  rooms  up  stairs.  Across 
the  end,  under  the  front  windows,  was  a  work 
bench,  with  a  variety  of  carpenter's  tools,  few  in 
number,  and  of  the  most  useful  kind.  On  the  bench 
was  an  unfinished  piece  of  work,  whose  intended 
use  would  have  puzzled  a  philosopher,  if  several 
similar  specimens  of  mechanism,  completed  and  prac 
tically  applied,  had  not  appeared  in  the  cellar  to 
explain  the  problem. 

On  the  wall  of  the  basement,  and  on  a  post  in 
the  centre  of  it,  supported  by  brackets,  were  half  a 
dozen  queer  little  structures,  something  like  minia 
ture  houses,  all  of  them  occupied  by,  and  some  of 


74  MAKE    OB   BREAK,    OR 

them  swarming  with,  white  mice.  In  the  construc 
tion  of  these  houses,  or,  as  Andre  facetiously  called 
them,  " Les  Palais  des  Mice"  Leo  displayed  a 
great  deal  of  skill  and  ingenuity.  He  was  a  nat 
ural-born  carpenter,  with  inventive  powers  of  a  high 
order.  He  not  only  made  them  neatly  and  nicely, 
but  lie  designed  them,  making  regular  working  plans 
for  their  construction. 

The  largest  of  them  was  about  three  feet  long. 
At  each  end  of  a  board  of  this  length,  and  fifteen 
inches  in  width,  was  a  box  or  house,  seven  inches 
deep,  to  contain  the  retiring  rooms  and  nests  of  the 
occupants  of  the  establishment.  Each  of  these  houses 
was  three  stories  high,  and  each  story  contained  four 
apartments,  or  twenty-four  in  the  whole  palace. 
The  space  between  the  two  houses  was  open  in 
front,  leaving  an  area  of  twenty-two  by  fifteen  inches 
for  a  playground,  or  grand  parade,  for  the  mice. 
The  three  sides  of  this  middle  space  were  filled 
with  shelves  or  galleries,  from  which  opened  the 
doors  leading  into  the  private  apartments.  The 
galleries  were  reached  by  inclined  planes,  cut  like 
steps. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  75 

Monsieur  Souris  Blanc  passed  from  the  gallery 
into  one  room,  and  from  this  apartment  to  another, 
which  had  no  exterior  door,  thus  securing  greater 
privacy,  though  on  the  outside  was  a  slide  by  which 
the  curious  proprietor  of  the  palace  could  investigate 
the  affairs  of  the  family.  Madame  Souris  Blanche, 
who  considerately  added  from  four  to  a  dozen  little 
ones  to  the  population  of  the  colony  every  three  or 
four  weeks,  apparently  approved  this  arrangement 
of  rooms,  though  it  was  observed  that  three  or 
four  mothers,  notwithstanding  the  multiplicity  of 
strictly  private  apartments,  would  bring  up  their 
families  in  the  same  nest,  cuddled  up  in  the  same 
mass  of  cotton  wool. 

Over  the  "  grand  parade  "  was  a  roof,  which  pre 
vented  the  mice  from  getting  out  over  the  tops  of 
the  nest-houses.  Though  this  space  was  open  in 
front,  and  the  play-ground  protected  only  by  a  fence 
an  inch  high,  the  little  creatures  seldom  fell  out, 
for  it  was  five  feet  to  the  floor  of  the  cellar,  and 
this  was  a  giddy  height  for  them  to  look  down. 

This  establishment  contained  fifty  or  sixty  white 
mice  —  from  the  venerable  grandfather  and  grand- 


76  MAKE    OK   BREAK,    OB 

mother  down  to  the  little  juveniles  two  weeks  old, 
to  say  nothing  of  sundry  little  ones  which  had  not 
appeared  on  the  "grand  parade,"  and  which  looked 
like  bits  of  beef,  or  more  like  pieces  of  a  large  fish 
worm.  Other  establishments  on  the  wall  container 
smaller  numbers;  and,  though  it  was  impossible  to 
count  them,  there  were  not  less  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  white  mice  in  the  basement. 

When  Leo  conducted  the  visitors  to  the  cellar, 
all  the  tribes  of  mice  were  in  the  highest  enjoyment 
of  colonial  and  domestic  bliss.  Though  most  of 
them  scampered  to  their  lairs  when  the  gentlemen 
appeared,  they  returned  in  a  moment,  looked  at  the 
strangers,  snuffed  and  stared,  and  then  went  to 
work  upon  the  buckwheat  and  canary  seed,  which 
Leo  gave  them  as  a  special  treat.  Squatting  on 
their  hind  legs,  they  picked  up  grains  or  seeds,  and 
holding  them  in  their  fore  paws,  like  squirrels,  picked 
out  the  kernels. 

In  other  houses,  they  were  chasing  each  other 
along  the  galleries,  performing  various  gymnastics 
on  the  apparatus  provided  for  the  purpose,  or  re-, 
volving  in  the  whirligigs  that  some  of  the  cages 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTEE.  77 

contained.  It  was  after  dark  ;  and,  having  reposed 
during  the  day,  they  were  full  of  life  and  spirit  at 
night.  The  detective  was  delighted,  and  even  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  for  a  few  moments  forgot  that  his 
valuable  papers  had  been  stolen.  Both  of  them 
gazed  with  interest  at  the  cunning  movements  and 
the  agile  performances  of  the  little  creatures. 

"I  see  why  you  remained  down  cellar  so  long," 
said  the  detective,  with  a  smile. 

"I  was  at  work  on  that  mouse-house,"  replied 
Leo,  pointing  to  the  bench. 

The  palace  in  process  of  construction  was  some 
what  different  from  the  others.  Instead  of  being 
open  in  front  of  the  "grand  parade,"  it  had  a  glass 
door,  so  that  the  occupants  of  the  establishment 
could  be  seen,  but  could  not  fall  out. 

"What  is  that  one  for?"  asked  Mr.  Clapp. 

"  I'm  making  that  for  Mr.  Stropmore,"  answered 
Leo.  "I  gave  him  one  lot,  but  his  cat  killed  them 
all.  The  cat  can't  get  at  them  in  this  house,  and 
they  can't  fall  out." 

"  Elinora  would  like  to  see  them,"  said  Mr.  Check 
ynshaw,  graciously. 


78  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  show  them  to  her,  ot 
to  give  her  as  many  of  them  as  she  wants,"  replied 
Leo. 

"Perhaps  she  will  come  and  see  them.  But,  Mr. 
Clapp,  we  must  attend  to  business." 

The  detective  was  in  no  hurry  to  attend  to  busi 
ness,  so  interested  was  he  in  the  performances  of 
the  mice.  He  was  quite  satisfied  that  a  boy  whose 
thoughts  were  occupied  as  Leo's  were  could  not  be 
implicated  in  the  robbery.  The  banker  led  the 
way  up  stairs,  and  Leo  was  questioned  again.  He 
described  the  rogue  once  more,  and  was  sure  he 
should  know  him  if  he  saw  him  again.  The  banker 
said  he  would  call  and  see  Mrs.  Wittleworth  and 
her  son,  while  the  detective  was  to  take  the  night 
train  for  New  York,  where  "  Mr.  Hart "  was  sup 
posed  to  have  gone.  The  officer,  who  knew  all  the 
rogues,  was  confident,  from  the  description,  that 
the  thief  was  "  Pilky  Wayne,"  a  noted  "  confidence 
man."  The  theft  was  according  to  his  method  of 
operation. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  father  is  ? "  asked  Mag 
gie,  as  Leo  was  about  to  leave  the  house  to  show 


THE    KICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  79 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  where  Mrs.  Wittleworth  lived. 
"It  is  after  seven  o'clock,  and  he  is  never  so  late 
as  this." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Leo.  "  I  haven't  seen 
him  since  one  o'clock." 

The  banker  was  disturbed  by  the  question.  It 
would  be  annoying  to  tell  such  a  pretty  and  inter 
esting  young  lady,  poor  girl  though  she  was,  that 
her  father  was  very  ill.  It  would  make  a  "  scene," 
and  he  would  be  expected  to  comfort  her  in  her 
great  grief. 

"Your  father —  Is  he  your  father,  miss?"  asked 
he,  doubtfully. 

"He  is  just  the  same.  He  adopted  both  Leo 
and  me,"  replied  Maggie. 

"  He  went  to  my  house,  this  afternoon,  to  dress 
my  daughter's  hair,"  added  Mr.  Checkynshaw ;  and 
there  was  something  in  his  manner  which  disturbed 
the  fair  girl. 

"  Is  he  there  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  is.  My  people  will  take  good 
care  of  him." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  sir?"  demanded  Mag 
gie.  "  Take  good  care  of  him  ?  " 


80  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OB 

"He  had  an  ill  turn  this  afternoon." 

"  My  father !  "  exclaimed  Maggie. 

"  I  sent  for  the  doctor,  and  he  has  had  good 
care,"  added  the  banker,  as  soothingly  as  he  could 
speak,  which,  however,  was  not  saying  much. 

"  What  ails  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  an  attack  of  apoplexy,  paralysis,  of 
something  of  that  kind." 

"  My  poor  father !  "  ejaculated  Maggie,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears.  "I  must  go  to  him  at  once." 

Maggie  took  down  her  cloak  and  hood,  and  put 
them  on. 


THE   RICH   MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  81 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MON    PERE. 

MAGGIE'S  ideas  of  apoplexy  or  paralysis  were 
not  very  definite,  and  she  only  understood 
that  something  very  terrible  had  happened  to  her 
foster-father,  whom  she  loved  as  though  he  had  been 
her  real  parent.  Leo  was  hardly  less  affected,  though, 
being  a  boy,  his  susceptibility  was  not  so  keen.  His 
first  feeling  was  one  of  indignation  that  the  banker 
had  not  told  him  before  of  the  misfortune  which  had 
overtaken  the  family.  It  was  cruel  to  have  kept 
Maggie  from  her  father  a  single  moment  longer  than 
was  necessary. 

"Where  is  poor  father  now?"  asked  Maggie,  as  she 
adjusted  her  hood,  and  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes 

"  He  is  at  my  house  ;  but  you  need  not  worry  about 
him,"  replied  Mr.  Checkynshaw.  "  The  doctor  ha? 
attended  to  his  case,  and  he  shall  have  everything 
he  needs." 

6 


82  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"Where  do  you  live,  sir?"  asked  Leo. 

"  No.  —  Pemberton  Square." 

"Come,  Maggie,  we  will  go  to  him,"  added  the  boy. 

"I  want  you  to  go  with  me,  and  show  me  where 
Fitz  lives,"  interposed  the  banker. 

"  He  lives  at  No.  —  Atkinson  Street,  up  the  court," 
answered  Leo,  rather  coolly,  as  he  picked  up  his  cap 
and  comforter. 

"  I  want  you  to  show  me  the  house." 

"I  must  go  with  Maggie." 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  looked  as  though  the  barber's 
serious  illness  was  of  no  consequence,  compared  with 
his  affairs. 

"  We  can  go  that  way,  Leo,  and  you  can  show 
him  the  house  as  we  pass  through  Atkinson  Street," 
said  Maggie,  leading  the  way  to  the  door. 

This  arrangement  was  satisfactory  to  the  banker ; 
the  house  was  locked,  and  Leo  led  the  way  out  of 
the  court.  The  humble  abode  of  Mrs.  Wittleworth 
was  pointed  out  to  Mr.  Checkynshaw ;  and,  after  he 
had  been  admitted,  Leo  and  Maggie  hastened  to  Pem 
berton  Square,  so  sad  and  sorrowful  that  hardly  a 
word  was  spoken  till  they  reached  the  lofty  mansion 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  83 

of  the  great  man.  With  trembling  hand  Leo  rang 
the  bell ;  and  Maggie's  slender  frame  quivered  with 
apprehension  while  they  waited  for  a  reply  to  the 
summons.  Lawrence  answered  the  bell  more  promptly 
than  when  its  call  had  disturbed  him  at  his  dinner. 

"  Is  Andre  Maggimore  here  ?  "  asked  Leo,  timidly. 

"  Who  ?  "  demanded  Lawrence. 

"Andre  Maggimore  —  the  barber  —  the  hair-dresser," 
replied  Leo. 

"You  mane  the  man  that  had  the  fit,"  added  the 
servant.  "  Indade,  he's  here,  thin." 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  asked  Maggie,  her  heart  bounding 
with  fear  lest  she  should  be  told  that  her  poor  father- 
was  no  more. 

"He's  a  little  better;  but  the  docthor  says  it'll  be 
a  long  day  till  he  is  able  to  handle  his  razors  again. 
What's  this  he  called  the  disase  ?  The  para4y-sis ! 
That's  just  what  it  is!" 

"Poor  mon  peref"  sighed  Maggie. 

"  We  would  like  to  see  him,  if  you  please,"  added 
Leo. 

"  And  who  be  you  ?  Are  you  his  children  ? " 
asked  Lawrence. 


84  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"We  are." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you ;  but  he's  very  bad,"  added 
Lawrence,  who  had  an  Irish  heart  under  his  vest,  as 
he  closed  the  front  door. 

« Is  he  —  will  he  —  " 

Poor  Maggie  could  not  ask  the  question  she  de 
sired  to  ask,  and  she  covered  her  face  and  wept. 

"No,  he  won't,"  replied  Lawrence,  tenderly.  "He 
won't  die.  The  docthor  says  he's  comin'  out  ot 
it ;  but  the  para-?y-sis  will  bodther  him  for  a  long 
time." 

Maggie  was  comforted  by  this  reply,  and  she  fol 
lowed  Lawrence  up  stairs  to  the  chamber  where 
Andre  lay.  He  had  been  conveyed  from  Elinora's 
dressing-room  to  an  apartment  in  the  L,  over  the 
dining-room,  where  the  banker  and  his  friends  smoked 
their  cigars  after  dinner.  He  was  lying  on  a  lounge, 
covered  with  blankets,  and  the  housekeeper  was 
attending  him. 

"  Poor  man  pere ! "  exclaimed  Maggie,  as  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  on  the  floor  by  the  side 
of  the  sick  man's  couch,  and  kissed  his  pale,  thin 
face. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  85 

Leo  bent  over  his  father's  prostrate  form,  and 
clasped  one  of  his  silky  hands,  which  now  felt  so 
cold  that  the  touch  chilled  his  heart.  The  doctor 
had  just  come  in  to  pay  his  patient  a  second  visit, 
and  stood  by  the  lounge,  regarding  with  interest  the 
devotion  of  the  boy  and  girl. 

Andre  had  "  come  out "  of  the  fit,  and  recognized 
his  children,  as  he  always  called  them.  He  smiled 
faintly,  and  tried  to  return  the  pressure  of  Leo's 
hand,  and  to  kiss  the  lips  of  Maggie,  pressed  to  his 
own ;  but  his  strength  was  not  yet  equal  to  his 
desire. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  remove  him  to  the 
hospital,"  said  the  doctor  to  the  housekeeper.  "  He 
will  be  well  nursed  there." 

"  No,  no,  no ! "  exclaimed  Maggie,  rising  and  walk 
ing  up  to  the  physician. 

Her  idea  of  the  hospital  was  not  a  very  clear  one, 
and  she  did  not  consider  it  much  better  than  a 
prison ;  at  least,  it  was  to  her  a  place  where  sick 
people  who  had  neither  home  nor  friends  were  sent ; 
a  place  where  other  hands  than  her  own  would  lave 
her  father's  fevered  brow,  and  administer  the  cooling 


86  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

draught.  To  her  it  was  sacrilege  to  permit  any  but 
herself  to  nurse  him;  and  she  felt  that  it  was  a  privi 
lege  to  stand  day  and  night  by  his  bed,  and  hold  his 
hand,  and  anticipate  all  his  wants.  Her  womanly 
instincts  were  strong,  and  she  heard  with  horror  the 
suggestion  to  take  the  sufferer  to  the  hospital. 

"  Your  father  would  be  very  kindly  cared  for  at  the 
hospital,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  But  it  would  not  be  his  own  home ! "  pleaded 
Maggie.  "  O,  he  so  loves  his  own  home !  He  always 
staid  there  when  he  was  not  in  the  shop.  It  would 
break  his  heart  to  send  him  away  from  his  own 
home  when  he  is  sick." 

"  Have  you  a  mother? "  asked  Dr.  Fisher,  kindly. 

"I  have  not;  but  I  will  nurse  him  by  day  and 
night.  I  will  be  mother,  wife,  and  daughter  to  him. 
Do  not  send  him  away  from  me  —  not  from  his  own 
home ! "  continued  Maggie,  so  imploringly  that  the 
good  physician  had  to  take  off  his  spectacles  and 
wipe  the  moisture  from  his  eyes. 

"  We  will  take  good  care  of  him  at  home,"  added 
Leo. 

"Very  well,"    replied    the    doctor.     "He    shall    be 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  87 

removed  to  his  own  home,  since  you  desire  it  so 
much.  Lawrence,  will  you  send  for  a  carnage  ?  " 

"  I  will,  sir,"  answered  the  servant,  leaving  the 
room. 

Andre  had  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  group, 
and  appeared  to  understand  the  matter  they  were 
discussing.  He  smiled  as  he  comprehended  the  de 
cision,  and  made  an  effort  to  embrace  Maggie,  when 
she  again  knelt  at  his  side  ;  but  a  portion  of  his  frame 
was  paralyzed,  and  he  could  not  move. 

"Your  father  may  be  sick  a  long  time,"  said  Dr. 
Fisher. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  !  But  I  will  take  such  good  care 
of  him !  "  replied  Maggie. 

"  He  needs  very  careful  nursing." 

"O,  he  shall  have  it!  He  would  rather  have  me 
nurse  him  than  any  other  person.  I  will  watch  him 
all  the  time.  I  will  sit  by  his  bed  all  day  and  all 
night,"  added  she,  with  womanly  enthusiasm. 

"  You  will  wear  yourself  out.  You  are  not  strong 
enough  to  do  without  your  sleep." 

"  I  am  very  strong,  sir.  I  do  all  the  work  in  the 
house  myself.  I  know  how  to  make  gruel,  and 


88  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OR 

porridge,  and  beef  tea,  and  soup ;  and  mon  pere 
shall  have  everything  nice." 

The  doctor  smiled,  and  felt  sure  that  no  better 
nurse  could  be  provided  for  the  sick  man. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ? "  he  asked.  "  Is  she 
living?" 

"  I  have  no  mother.  Leo  has  no  mother.  We  are 
not  Andre's  own  children ;  but  we  love  him  just  the 
same,  and  he  loves  us  just  the  same." 

"But  who  was  your  mother?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Doesn't  Andre  know  ?  " 

"He  does  not." 

"You  have  some  kind  of  a  history,  I  suppose," 
added  the  doctor,  greatly  interested  in  the  girl. 

"  Mon  pere  don't  like  to  talk  about  it.  He  seems 
to  be  afraid  that  some  one  will  get  me  away  from 
him ;  but  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  go  away  from 
him;  I  wouldn't  leave  him  for  a  king's  palace." 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  '•mon  pere'?" 

"  He  taught  me  to  call  him  so  when  I  was  little. 
Andre's  father  was  an  Italian,  and  his  mother  a  French 
woman ;  but  he  was  born  in  London." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  89 

"Where  did  he  find  you?" 

"At  the  cholera  hospital." 

«  Where  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  He  always  looked  so  sad,  and  his 
heart  seemed  to  be  so  pained  when  I  asked  him  any 
questions  about  myself,  that  I  stopped  doing  so  long 
ago.  When  I  was  five  years  old,  he  found  me  play- 
ing  about  the  hospital,  where  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  people  had  died  with  cholera.  I  had  the  cholera 
myself;  and  he  came  to  play  with  me  every  day; 
and  when  they  were  going  to  send  me  to  an  orphan 
asylum,  or  some  such  place,  he  took  me  away,  ana 
promised  to  take  care  of  me.  Ah,  man  pere"  said 
she,  glancing  tenderly  at  the  sick  man,  and  wiping  a 
tear  from  her  eyes,  "  how  well  he  has  kept  his  prom 
ise!  I  can't  help  thinking  he  loved  me  more  than 
any  real  father  could.  I  never  saw  any  father  who 
was  so  kind,  and  tender,  and  loving  to  his  child  as 
Andre  is  to  me." 

"  And  you  don't  know  where  this  hospital  was  r  " 

"No,  sir;  and  I  don't  want  to  know.  Mon  pere 
thinks  my  parents  died  of  the  cholera;  but  Andre 
has  been  father  and  mother  to  me.  He  would  die 
if  he  lost  me." 


90  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  And  your  brother  —  was  he  taken  from  tin 
cholera  hospital  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Maggie,  rising  and  speaking  in  3, 
whisper  to  the  physician,  so  that  Leo  should  not  hear 
»vhat  she  said.  "  Andre  had  to  leave  me  all  alone 
when  he  went  to  the  shop,  and  he  went  to  the  alms- 
house  to  find  a  poor  orphan  to  keep  me  company. 
He  found  Leo,  whose  father  and  mother  had  both 
died  from  drinking  too  much.  He  took  him  home, 
and  mon  pere  has  been  as  good  to  him  as  he  has 
to  me." 

"His  name  is  Leo  —  the  Lion?" 

"No,  sir;  not  the  lion.  Mon  pere  called  him  Leo 
pold,  after  the  King  of  Belgium,  in  whose  service  he 
once  was ;  but  we  always  call  him  Leo.  He  is  a  real 
good  boy,  and  will  get  the  medal  at  his  school  this 
year." 

"  The  carriage  has  come,  sir,"  said  Lawrence,  open 
ing  the  door. 

The  arrangements  were  made  for  the  removal  of 
the  barber  to  his  house.  The  hackman  and  the  man 
servant  came  to  carry  him  down  stairs  in  an  arm 
chair,  and  the  doctor  was  to  go  with  his  patient,  and 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  91 

assist  in  disposing  of  him  at  his  house.  Andre  was 
placed  in  the  chair,  covered  with  blankets,  and  the 
door  opened  in  readiness  to  carry  him  down.  Mag 
gie  kept  close  to  him,  comforting  him  with  the  kindest 
words,  and  adjusting  the  blanket  so  that  the  rude 
blasts  of  winter  might  not  reach  him. 

"  Lawrence  !  "  called  Elinora,  in  a  petulant  tone, 
from  the  dressing-room  on  the  same  floor. 

Under  the  circumstances,  Lawrence  was  not  dis 
posed  to  heed  the  call ;  but  it  was  so  often  and  so 
ill-naturedly  repeated,  that  Dr.  Fisher  told  him  to  go 
and  see  what  she  wanted,  fearful  that  some  accident 
had  happened  to  her.  The  man  went  into  the  hall. 
Elinora  had  come  out  of  her  room  in  her  impatience, 
arrayed  for  the  party  she  was  to  attend.  Another 
hair-dresser  had  been  sent  for  to  complete  the  work 
which  Andre  had  begun ;  but  the  young  lady  was 
more  than  an  hour  late,  and  proportionally  impa 
tient. 

"  Are  you  deaf,  Lawrence  ?  The  carriage  has 
come,"  pouted  Elinora. 

"That's  not  the  carriage  for  you,  miss.  It's  to 
take  the  barber  to  his  own  place,"  replied  Lawrence. 


92  MAKE    OR    BKEAK,    OK 

"That  horrid  barber  again!  I  shall  not  get  over 
the  fright  he  gave  me  for  a  month !  I  will  take  this 
carriage,  and  he  may  have  the  other  when  it  comes," 
said  she,  walking  to  the  stairs.  "  Go  down  and  open 
the  door  for  rne." 

"  If  you  plaze,  miss,  you  can't  go  in  this  carnage. 
It's  for  the  sick  man." 

"  I  don't  care  what  it's  for !  I'm  in  a  hurry,  Law 
rence.  I  must  have  the  first  carriage." 

"Indacle,  miss,  but  we  have  the  sick  man  up  in 
the  chair,  ready  to  take  him  down  the  stairs.  It's 
very  bad  he  is." 

"  Let  him  wait !  Go  down  and  open  the  door,  as 
I  tell  you." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,  but  the  docthor  —  " 

"  If  you  don't  do  what  I  tell  you  this  instant,  I'll 
ask  pa  to  discharge  you." 

Dr.  Fisher  came  out  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the 
delay.  He  explained  that  the  carriage  had  been 
ordered  to  convey  the  barber  to  his  home,  and  he 
insisted  that  it  should  be  used  for  that  purpose. 
Andre  was  his  patient,  and  he  would  not  permit  any 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  93 

further  delay.    Elinora  pouted  and  flouted,  and  hopped 
back  into  her  chamber. 

Andre  was  borne  carefully  down  the  stairs,  and 
placed  in  the  carriage.  Maggie  and  the  doctor  en 
tered  the  vehicle  with  him,  and  they  were  driven  to 
the  barber's  own  home,  where  he  was  placed  upon 
his  bed  in  the  front  room. 


91  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OK 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MAKE    OR    BREAK. 

MAGGIE  plied  the  kind-hearted  physician  with 
questions  in  regard  to  her  father's  condition  — 
with  questions  which  no  man  with  merely  human 
knowledge  could  answer.  He  thought  Andre  would 
be  able  to  talk  to  her  by  the  next  day ;  but  he  feared 
the  patient  would  not  be  well  enough  to  resume  his 
place  in  the  shop  for  weeks,  and  perhaps  months. 

Andre  appeared  to  be  quite  comfortable,  and  did 
not  seem  to  be  suffering  very  severely.  The  doctor 
had  given  him  some  medicine  before  he  was  removed 
from  the  banker's  house,  and  the  sick  man  went  to 
sleep  soon  after  he  was  put  to  bed  in  his  own  room. 
Dr.  Fisher  then  went  out  into  the  rear  room,  and  told 
Maggie  that  her  father  would  probably  sleep  for  sev 
eral  hours. 

"I  will  come  again  in  the  morning,  Maggie,"  said 
he.  "Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  95 

"  Nothing  more,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  she.  "  I 
am  very  grateful  to  you  for  what  you  have  done." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  your  father's  circumstances ; 
but  if  you  need  any  assistance,  I  hope  you  will  make 
it  known." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  I  don't  think  we  need  anything," 
replied  Maggie,  a  slight  blush  mantling  her  pretty 
face ;  for  the  idea  of  asking  or  accepting  charity  was 
painful  to  her. 

"  I  fear  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  your  father  will 
be  able  to  work  again,"  continued  Dr.  Fisher,  glancing 
around  the  room  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  whether  tho 
singular  family  were  in  poverty  or  in  plenty. 

"I  will  take  good  care  of  him,  whether  it  be  for 
weeks  or  for  months,  or  even  for  years.  You  don't 
know  how  sorry  I  am  to  have  poor  mon  pere  sick; 
but  you  can't  think  what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  me  to  have 
an  opportunity  to  do  something  for  him.  I  wish  I 
could  tell  you  how  good  and  kind  he  has  always  been 
to  me ;  how  tenderly  he  watched  over  me  when  I  was 
sick;  how  lovingly  he  prayed  for  me;  but  I  cannot, 
though  it  makes  me  happy  to  think  I  can  now  do 
something  for  him." 


96  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Maggie,  and  I  don't  see  how 
Andre  could  have  done  any  less  for  you,"  replied  the 
doctor.  "Who  keeps  house  here?" 

"  O,  I  do  that,  sir." 

"Then  you  must  have  to  Avork  very  hard." 

"  Indeed,  I  don't !  I  have  to  keep  busy  almost  all 
day ;  but  it  is  such  a  pleasure  to  me  to  know  that  I 
am  doing  something  for  mon  pere,  that  I  never  think 
it  is  hard  at  all." 

Everything  looked  so  neat  and  nice  in  the  house 
that  the  doctor  could  not  decide  whether  any  assist 
ance  was  required  or  not.  Pie  was  one  of  those 'good 
physicians  who  felt  for  the  poor  and  the  humble. 
Though  he  practised  in  some  of  the  richest  and  most 
aristocratic  families  in  the  city,  his  mission  was  not  to 
them  alone.  He  visited  the  haunts  of  poverty,  and 
not  only  contributed  his  professional  services  in  their 
aid,  but  he  gave  with  no  stinted  hand  from  his  own 
purSe  to  relieve  their  wants.  When  he  died,  the  ser 
mon  preached  on  the  Sunday  after  his  funeral  was 
from  the  text,  "The  beloved  physician;"  and  no  one 
ever  went  to  his  reward  in  heaven  who  better  de 
served  the  praise  bestowed  upon  him. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  97 

In  the  present  instance,  he  felt  that  his  work  was 
not  alone  to  heal  the  sick.  His  patient  was  a  journey 
man  barber,  with  only  a  boy,  and  a  girl  of  fifteen,  to 
depend  upon.  This  same  doctor  often  went  among 
his  friends  in  State  Street,  in  'change  hours,  to  preach 
the  gospel  of  charity  in  his  own  unostentatious  way. 
All  gave  Avhen  he  asked,  and  it  was  not  a  very  diffi 
cult  matter  for  him  to  raise  fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars 
for  a  deserving  family.  He  purposed  to  do  this  for 
those  under  the  barber's  humble  roof,  who,  without 
being  connected  by  the  remotest  tie  of  blood,  were 
more  loving  and  devoted  towards  each  other  than 
many  whom  God  had  joined  by  the  ties  of  kindred. 

The  doctor  never  told  anybody  of  his  good  deeds. 
Hardly  did  his  left  hand  know  what  his  right  hand 
did ;  and  one  of  his  eyes,  which  followed  not  the 
other's  apparent  line  of  vision,  seemed  to  be  looking 
out  all  the  time  for  some  hidden  source  of  human 
suffering.  He  was  as  tender  of  the  feelings  of  others 
as  he  was  of  the  visible  wounds  of  his  patients.  He 
saw  the  blush  upon  the  cheeks  of  Maggie,  and  he 
interpreted  it  as  readily  as  though  the  sentiment  had 
been  expressed  in  words.  He  forbore  to  make  any 
7 


98 

further  inquiries  in  regard  to  the  pecuniary  condition 
of  the  strange  family ;  but  he  was  determined  that  all 
their  wants  should  be  supplied,  without  injury  to  their 
laudable  pride.  lie  went  away,  and  Maggie  and  Leo 
were  left  to  themselves. 

"You  haven't  been  to  supper,  Leo,"  said  Maggie, 
when  Dr.  Fisher  had  gone. 

"I  don't  seem  to  care  about  any  supper,"  replied 
Leo,  gloomily. 

"You  must  eat  your  supper,  Leo,"  added  Maggie, 
as  she  placed  the  teapot  on  the  table.  "There  are 
some  cold  sausages  I  saved  for  mon  pere.  Sit  down, 
Leo.  "We  must  work  now,  and  we  need  all  the  strength 
we  can  get." 

Then  she  crept  on  tiptoe  into  the  front  room,  and 
looked  into  the  face  of  the  sleeper.  He  was  still  slum 
bering,  and  she  returned  to  the  table,  seating  herself 
in  her  accustomed  place,  near  the  stove.  Leo  looked 
heavy  and  gloomy,  as  well  he  might ;  for  the  sad  event 
of  that  day  promised  to  blast  the  bright  hopes  in  which 
his  sanguine  nature  revelled.  He  knew,  and  Maggie 
knew,  that  Andre  Maggimore  had  made  no  prepara 
tion  for  the  calamity  which  had  so  suddenly  overtaken 
him. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  99 

It  was  Wednesday,  and  the  wages  of  the  preceding 
week  were  more  than  half  used.  He  had  no  money, 
no  resources,  no  friends  upon  whom  he  could  depend, 
to  fall  back  on  in  the  day  of  his  weakness.  The  bar 
ber  was  faithful  and  affectionate  as  a  woman,  but  he 
had  no  business  calculation,  and  his  forethought  1'arely 
extended  beyond  the  duration  of  a  single  week.  While 
he  owed  no  man  anything,  and  never  contracted  any 
debts,  he  had  never  saved  a  dollar  beyond  what  he 
had  invested  in  furnishing  the  small  house. 

The  dark  day  had  come,  and  Leo  was  the  first  to 
see  it.  In  another  week,  or,  at  most,  in  two  weeks, 
every  dollar  the  barber  had  would  have  been  spent. 
It  was  plain  enough  to  him  that  he  could  not  con 
tinue  to  attend  school  till  exhibition  day  came,  and 
he  would  lose  the  medal  he  coveted,  and  for  which  he 
had  worked  most  diligently.  Maggie  poured  out  his 
cup  of  tea,  and  handed  it  to  him.  He  was  eating  his 
supper ;  but  his  head  was  bowed  down. 

"  Leo,"  said  she. 

He  looked  up  with  a  start,  took  his  tea,  and  imme 
diately  lost  himself  again. 

"Leo!"  added  Maggie,  in  her  peculiarly  tender 
tones. 


100  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

He  looked  up  again. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Leo?"  she  con« 
tinned,  gazing  earnestly  at  him.  "  I  need  not  ask  you, 
Leo.  You  are  thinking  of  poor  mon  pere." 

"I  was  thinking  of  him.  I  was  thinking,  too,  that 
I  should  lose  my  medal  now,"  replied  Leo,  gloomily. 

"  Fie  on  your  medal !  Don't  think  of  such  a  trifle  as 
that!  "she  added,  gently  rebuking  the  selfish  thought 
of  her  brother. 

"You  don't  quite  understand  me,  Maggie." 

"I  hope  you  are  not  thinking  of  yourself,  Leo  — 
only  of  mon  pere" 

"I  was  thinking  that  he  has  worked  for  me,  and 
now  I  must  work  for  him.  I  must  give  up  my  school 
now." 

"You  must,  indeed,  Leo." 

"  We  can't  stay  in  this  house  unless  we  pay  the 
rent.  Father  made  ten  dollars  a  week,  and  it  took 
every  cent  of  it  to  pay  the  expenses.  What  shall  we 
do  now?" 

"  We  must  both  work." 

"We  can't  make  ten  dollars  a  week  if  both  of  us 
work.  But  you  can't  do  anything  more  than  take 


THE    KICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  101 

care  of  father.  I  don't  see  how  we  are  going  to  get 
along.  Fitz  Wittleworth  has  only  five  dollars  a  week 
at  Mr.  Checkynshaw's.  If  he  gave  me  the  same 
wages,  it  wouldn't  more  than  half  pay  our  expenses." 

Maggie  looked  puzzled  and  perplexed  at  this  plain 
statement.  It  was  a  view  of  the  situation  she  had 
not  before  taken,  and  she  could  not  suggest  any 
method  of  solving  the  difficult  problem. 

"  We  can  reduce  our  expenses,"  said  she,  at  last,  a 
cheerful  glow  lighting  up  her  face  as  she  seemed  to 
have  found  the  remedy. 

"You  can't  reduce  them.  The  doctor's  bill  and  the 
medicines  will  more  than  make  up  for  anything  we 
can  save  in  things  to  eat  and  drink." 

"That's  very  true,  Leo.  What  shall  we  do?"  in 
quired  Maggie,  sorrowfully,  as  her  ingenious  argument 
was  overthrown. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  can  do.  They  say  doctors 
charge  a  dollar  a  visit,  and  that  will  make  seven  dol 
lars  a  week.  The  medicines  will  cost  another  dollar, 
at  least,  perhaps  two  or  three.  That  makes  eight  dol 
lars.  Even  if  we  save  three  dollars  a  week  in  pro 
visions  and  such  things,  it  will  cost  fifteen  dollars  a 


102  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

week.  I  might  as  well  try  to  fly  as  to  make  that.  I 
couldn't  do  it.  It's  half  as  much  again  as  father  could 
make." 

"O,  dear!"  sighed  Maggie,  appalled  by  this  array 
of  financial  demands. 

"  I  suppose  the  doctor  won't  bring  in  his  bill  yet  a 
while,"  added  Leo. 

"But  we  must  pay  him.  Mon  pere  would  worry 
himself  to  death  in  a  short  time  if  he  knew  he  was 
getting  in  debt." 

"I  don't  see  how  we  can  do  it." 

Leo  relapsed  into  silence  again,  and  finished  his 
supper.  The  problem  troubled  him.  He  sat  down 
by  the  stove,  and  did  not  move  for  half  an  hour. 
Maggie  cleared  off  the  table,  washed  the  dishes  and 
put  them  away,  creeping  stealthily  into  the  front  room 
every  few  moments  to  assure  herself  that  all  was  well 
with  her  father. 

"Leo,  don't  worry  any  more.  We  shall  be  cared 
for  somehow.  Our  good  Father  in  heaven  will  watch 
over  us  in  the  future,  as  he  has  in  the  past.  Trust  in 
God,  Leo,"  said  Maggie,  impressively.  "I  will  not 
worry  any  more,  and  you  must  not." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  103 

"  I  will  trust  in  God ;  but  God  expects  me  to  do 
something  more  than  that.  He  helps  those  who  help 
themselves.  I  am  going  to  do  something!"  exclaimed 
he,  springing  to  his  feet.  "MAKE  OR  BREAK,  I'm 
going  to  do  my  duty;  I'm  going  to  do  my  whole 
duty." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Leo  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet ;  but,  make  or  break,  I'm  going 
to  do  something.  It's  no  use  for  me  to  work  for  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  at  five  dollars  a  week,  when  it  will  cost 
us  fifteen  dollars  a  week  to  get  along.  I'm  going  to 
do  something,"  continued  Leo,  as  he  took  a  lamp  from 
the  shelf  and  lighted  it. 

Then  he  stopped  before  Maggie,  and  looked  her  full 
in  the  face,  his  eyes  lighting  up  with  unusual  lustre. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Leo  ?  What  makes  you 
look  at  me  so  ?  " 

"Maggie,  Andre  is  not  our  own  father;  but  he  has 
done  all  that  an  own  father  could  do  for  us.  Maggie, 
let  me  take  your  hand." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  was  awed  by  the  im 
pressive  earnestness  of  his  manner. 

"  Maggie,  I'm  going  to   do  my  duty  now.     I  want 


104  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

to  promise  you  that  poor  father  shall  never  want  for 
anything.  I  want  to  promise  you  that  I  will  do  all 
for  him  that  a  real  son  could  do." 

"Good,  kind  Leo!  We  will  both  do  our  whole  duty." 

Leo  dropped  her  hand,  and  went  down  stairs  into 
his  workshop.  The  white  mice  were  capering  and 
gamboling  about  their  palatial  abodes,  all  unconscious 
that  poor  Andre  had  been  stricken  down.  Leo  gave 
ihem  their  suppers,  and  sat  down  on  the  work-bench. 
fie  was  in  deep  thought,  and  remained  immovable  for 
ri  long  time. 

He  was  a  natural  mechanic.  His  head  was  full  of 
mechanical  ideas.  Was  there  not  some  useful  article 
which  he  could  make  and  sell  —  a  boot-jack,  a  work- 
box,  a  writing-desk  —  something  new  and  novel?  He 
had  half  a  dozen  such  things  in  his  mind,  and  he  was 
thinking  which  one  it  would  pay  best  to  mature.  His 
thought  excited  him,  and  he  twisted  about  on  the 
bench,  knocking  a  chisel  on  the  floor.  The  noise 
frightened  the  mice,  and  they  made  a  stampede  to 
their  nests.  He  looked  up  at  them. 

"  That's  an  idea ! "  exclaimed  he,  leaping  off  the 
.  "Make  or  break,  I'll  put  it  through!" 


THE   KICK    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  105 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MR.    CHECKYNSHAW    AND    FAMILY. 

"E  left  Mr.  Checkynshaw  entering  the  house 
of  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  in  Atkinson  Street ; 
and,  as  he  was  a  gentleman  of  eminent  dignity  and 
gravity,  we  feel  compelled  to  beg  his  pardon  for 
leaving  him  so  long  out  in  the  cold  of  a  winter 
night.  Having  made  the  barber  as  comfortable  as 
the  circumstances  would  permit,  we  are  entirely  will 
ing  to  let  the  banker  in,  though  the  abode  at  which 
he  sought  admission  was  hardly  worthy  of  the  dis 
tinguished  honor  thus  conferred  upon  it. 

Mrs.  "VVittleworth  cautiously  opened  the  door,  for 
those  who  have  the  least  to  steal  are  often  the  most 
afraid  of  robbers  ;  but,  recognizing  the  lofty  person 
age  at  the  door,  she  invited  him  to  enter,  much 
wondering  what  had  driven  him  from  his  comfort 
able  abode  in  Pernberton  Square  to  seek  out  her 
obscure  residence  at  that  hour  in  the  evening.  Mr. 


V 


106  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OR 

Checkynshaw  was  conducted  to  an  apartment  which 
served  as  kitchen,  parlor,  and  bed-room  for  the  poor 
woman,  her  son  having  a  chamber  up  stairs.  A  seat 
was  handed  to  the  great  man,  and  he  sat  down  by 
the  cooking-stove,  after  bestowing  a  glance  of  apparent 
disgust  at  the  room  and  its  furnishings. 

The  banker  rubbed  his  hands,  and  looked  as  though 
he  meant  business ;  and  Mrs.  Wittleworth  actually 
trembled  with  fear  lest  some  new  calamity  was  about 
to  be  heaped  upon  the  pile  of  misfortunes  that  already 
weighed  her  down.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  had  never  be 
fore  darkened  her  doors.  Though  she  had  once  been 
a  welcome  guest  within  his  drawing-rooms,  she  had 
long  since  been  discarded,  and  cast  out,  and  forgotten. 
When  the  poor  woman,  worse  than  a  widow,  pleaded 
before  him  for  the  means  of  living,  he  had  given  her 
son  a  place  in  his  office,  at  a  salary  of  five  dollars  a 
week.  If  she  had  gone  to  him  again,  doubtless  he 
would  have  done  more  for  her;  but,  as  long  as  she 
could  keep  soul  and  body  together  by  her  ill-paid 
drudgery,  she  could  not  endure  the  humiliation  of 
displaying  her  poverty  to  him. 

Mrs.  Wittlevvorth  had  once  lived  in  affluence.    She 


THE  men  MAN'S  DAUGHTER.  107 

had  been  brought  up  in  ease  and  luxury,  and  hei 
present  lot  was  all  the  harder  for  the  contrast.  Her 
father,  James  Osborne,  was  an  enterprising  merchant, 
who  had  accumulated  a  fortune  of  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars,  on  which  he  had  the  good  sense  to 
retire  from  active  business.  Of  his  four  children,  the 
two  sons  died,  leaving  the  two  daughters  to  inherit 
his  wealth. 

John  Wittleworth,  the  father  of  Fitz,  was  a  clerk  in 
the  counting-room  of  Mr.  Osborne,  and  finally  became 
the  partner  of  his  employer,  whose  confidence  he  ob 
tained  to  such  a  degree  that  the  merchant  was  willing 
to  trust  him  with  all  he  had.  He  married  Ellen 
Osborne ;  and  when  her  father  retired  from  business, 
his  son-in-law  carried  it  on  alone.  At  this  time, 
doubtless,  John  Wittleworth  was  worthy  of  all  the 
confidence  reposed  in  him,  for  the  terrible  habit,  which 
eventually  beggared  him,  had  not  developed  itself  to 
an  extent  which  seemed  perilous  even  to  the  eye  of 
affection. 

A  few  years  after  the  marriage  of  Ellen,  Mr.  Check- 
ynshaw,  then  aspiring  to  no  higher  title  than  that  of  a 
simple  broker,  presented  himself  as  the  suitor  of  Mary, 
V 


108  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

the  younger  daughter  of  the  retired  merchant.  Mr. 
Osborne  did  not  like  him  very  well ;  but  Mary  did, 
and  their  affair  was  permitted  to  take  its  course. 
Only  a  few  months  after  this  alliance  of  the  Checkyn- 
shaw  and  the  Osborne,  the  merchant  was  taken  sick. 
When  it  was  evident  that  his  days  were  drawing  to  a 
close,  he  made  his  will. 

His  property  consisted  of  about  one  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars.  One  half  of  it  was  invested  in  a  block 
of  stores,  which  paid  a  heavy  rental,  and  the  other 
half  was  in  money,  stocks,  and  debts.  In  settling  the 
affairs  of  the  firm  he  had  taken  John  Wittleworth's 
notes  for  thirty  thousand  dollars,  secured  by  a  mort 
gage  on  the  stock.  In.  making  his  will,  Mr.  Osborne 
gave  to  Ellen  or  —  what  was  the  same  thing  in  those 
days,  when  a  woman  did  not  own  her  own  property  — 
to  her  husband,  all  the  money,  stocks,  and  debts  due 
from  Wittleworth.  He  did  this  because  his  late  part 
ner  wanted  more  capital  to  increase  his  business. 

To  Mary,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  he  gave 
the  block  of  stores ;  but,  not  having  so  much  confi 
dence  in  Mary's  husband  as  in  Ellen's,  he  gave  her 
the  property  with  certain  restrictions.  The  income  of 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  109 

the  estate  was  to  be  hers  —  or  her  husband's  —  during 
her  life.  At  her  death  the  estate  was  to  pass  to  her 
children.  If  she  died  without  children,  the  property 
was  to  be  her  sister's,  or  her  sister's  children's.  But 
Mr.  Osborne  did  not  wish  to  exhibit  any  want  of  con 
fidence  in  Mary's  husband ;  so  he  made  Mr.  Checkyn 
shaw  the  trustee,  to  hold  the  block  of  stores  for  his 
wife  and  for  her  children.  He  had  the  power  to  col 
lect  the  rents,  and  as  long  as  his  wife  lived,  or  as 
long  as  her  children  lived,  the  money  was  practically 
his  own. 

Mary,  the  first  Mrs.  Checkynshaw,  was  in  rather 
feeble  health,  and  the  doctors  advised  her  to  spend 
the  winter  in  the  south  of  France.  Her  husband  com 
plied  with  this  advice;  and  her  child,  Marguerite,  was 
born  in  Perpignan,  and  had  a  French  name  because 
she  was  born  in  France.  The  family  returned  home 
in  the  following  spring;  but  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  died 
during  the  succeeding  winter.  Marguerite  was  a  fine, 
healthy  child ;  and  to  her  now  belonged  the  block  of 
stores  bequeathed  by  her  grandfather,  her  father  hold 
ing  it  in  trust  for  her. 

In    another    year    Mr.   Checkynshaw    married    hia 


110  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

second  wife,  who  treated  little  Marguerite  well  enough, 
though  she  felt  no  deep  and  motherly  intei-est  in  her, 
especially  after  Elinora,  her  own  daughter,  was  bora 
Mr.  Checkynshaw  called  himself  a  banker  now.  He 
had  taken  Mr.  Hart  and  another  gentleman  into  the 
concern  as  partners,  and  the  banking-house  of  Check 
ynshaw,  Hart,  &  Co.  was  a  rising  establishment. 

The  second  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  was  an  ambitious 
woman,  vain  and  pretentious.  Her  friends  had  been 
to  London,  Paris,  Naples,  and  Rome.  She  had  never 
been  in  Europe,  and  it  galled  her  to  be  out  of  the 
fashion.  When  Elinora  was  only  two  years  old,  she 
insisted  upon  going  abroad.  Her  husband  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  travelling  with  two  children,  one  five 
and  the  other  two  years  old.  But  he  was  over- 
persuaded,  and  finally  consented  to  go.  They  arrived 
in  Paris  in  July,  and  intended  to  remain  there  two 
months;  but,  before  this  period  elapsed,  the  banker 
received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Hart  informing  him  of  the 
sudden  death  of  the  third  partner  in  their  house. 
This  event  compelled  him  to  return  immediately ;  but 
Mrs.  Checkynshaw  was  so  well  pleased  with  Parisian 
life,  that  she  was  unwilling  to  leave  the  city  so  soon. 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  Ill 

The  voyage  to  her  was  terrible,  and  she  had  seen 
little  or  nothing  of  Europe.  The  family  had  taken 
apartments,  and  she  was  loath  to  leave  them. 

A  friend  of  the  banker,  who  with  his  wife  occupied 
rooms  in  the  same  house,  suggested  that  Mrs.  Check- 
ynshaw  and  her  children  should  remain  until  her 
husband  could  return,  two  or  three  months  later.  An 
arrangement  to  this  effect  was  made,  and  the  banker 
hastened  home  to  settle  his  business  affairs.  He  had 
hardly  departed  before  the  cholera  broke  out  with 
fearful  violence  in  Paris.  One  of  its  first  victims  was 
the  gentleman  who  had  charge  of  Mr.  Checkynshaw's 
family.  His  wife  followed  him,  only  a  day  later,  to 
the  cholera  hospital. 

Of  course  the  banker's  wife  was  terribly  frightened, 
and  instantly  made  her  preparations  to  leave  the  in 
fected  city.  Poor  little  Marguerite  was  the  first  of 
the  family  to  take  the  disease,  and  she  was  hurried  off 
to  the  hospital  by  the  landlord  of  the  house,  who  was 
very  polite,  but  very  heartless.  This  event  would  not 
have  delayed  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Checkynshaw, 
but  she  was  stricken  down  herself  before  she  could 
leave.  The  fearful  malady  ragea  with  awful  violence  j 


112  MAKE    OB   BREAK,   OB 

hospitals  were  crowded  with  patients,  and  the  dead 
were  hurried  to  their  last  resting-place  without  a 
prayer  or  a  dirge. 

Little  Elinora  was  taken  by  her  nurse  to  the  Sisters 
of  Charity,  and  escaped  the  disease.  Mrs.  Checkyn- 
shaw  recovered,  and  as  soon  as  she  was  able, 
reclaimed  her  child,  and  fled  to  the  interior  of  Swit 
zerland,  to  a  small  town  which  the  plague  had  not 
yet  visited.  When  the  panic  had  subsided,  she  re 
turned  to  Paris.  She  had  been  informed,  before  her 
departure,  that  little  Marguerite  had  died  of  the 
disease ;  but,  on  her  return,  she  visited  the  hospital, 
and  made  more  careful  inquiry  in  regard  to  the  little 
patient.  She  was  told  that  the  child  answering  to  her 
description  had  died,  and  been  buried  with  a  dozen 
others.  It  was  then  impossible  to  identify  the  remains 
s>f  the  child. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  returned  to  Paiis  in  September. 
His  wife  had  written  to  him  and  to  Mrs.  Wittleworth 
as  soon  as  she  was  able,  and  her  husband  had  received 
her  letter  before  his  departure  from  Boston.  Poor  lit 
tle  Marguerite !  She  was  his  own  child,  and  he  was 
sorely  grieved  at  her  death.  He  was  not  quite  satis- 


THE   HIGH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  113 

ficd  with  his  wife's  investigations,  and  he  determined 
to  inquire  further.  "With  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  he  went 
to  the  hospital. 

"The  child  died  the  day  after  it  was  brought  here," 
replied  the  director.  "  Here  is  the  name ; "  and  he 
pointed  to  the  record. 

The  name  indicated  certainly  was  not  "  Checkyn 
shaw,"  though  it  was  as  near  it  as  a  Frenchman  could 
be  expected  to  write  it.  The  letters  spelled  "  Chuck- 
ingham." 

"  Allow  me  to  look  at  the  book,"  said  Mr.  Checkyn 
shaw. 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  but  I  remember  the  case  well.  She 
was  a  little  English  girl,"  added  the  director. 

"  This  child  was  American,"  interposed  the  anxious 
father. 

"We  cannot  tell  the  difference.  She  spoke  only 
English." 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  pointing 
to  another  name.  "Marguerite  Poulebah." 

"  That  patient  was  discharged,  cured." 

"Do  you  translate  English  proper  names?" 

"  Never ! " 

8 


J  14  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  What  became  of  this  patient  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Check 
ynshaw,  deeply  interested. 

"I  don't  know." 

The  banker  was  satisfied  that  "  Marguerite  Poule- 
bah "  was  his  daughter ;  that  the  persons  who  had 
brought  her  to  the  hospital  understood  a  little  Eng 
lish,  and  had  translated  his  surname  literally  from 
"•  chicken  "  and  "  pshaw."  He  investigated  the  matter 
for  a  week.  The  concierge  of  the  lodgings  where  he 
had  resided  assured  him  he  had  not  given  the  name 
as  "  Poulebah."  At  the  end  of  the  week  he  informed 
his  wife  that  he  had  obtained  a  clew  to  the  child.  She 
had  been  taken  from  the  hospital  by  the  Sisters  of 
Charity,  and  sent  to  Strasburg,  that  she  might  not 
have  a  relapse.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  went  to  Strasburg 
atone. 

On  his  return  he  assured  his  wife  that  he  had  found 
Marguerite  ;  that  she  was  happy  with  the  Sisters,  and 
cried  when  he  spoke  of  taking  her  away.  The  de 
voted  ladies  were  very  much  attached  to  her,  he  said ; 
and  he  had  concluded  that  it  would  be  best  to  leave 
her  there,  at  least  until  they  were  ready  to  embark 
for  home.  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  did  not  object.  She 


THE    ETCH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  115 

had  no  love  for  the  child,  and  though  she  had  treated 
her  well  from  a  sense  of  duty,  was  rather  glad  to  get 
rid  of  her. 

The  family  remained  in  Europe  till  the  next  spring. 
Mr.  Cheeky nshaw  went  to  see  his  daughter  again. 
The  Sisters  were  educating  her,  and  he  declared  that 
Marguerite  was  so  very  happy  with  them,  and  begged 
so  hard  not  to  be  taken  from  them,  that  he  had  con 
sented  to  let  her  remain  at  their  school.  Mrs.  Check- 
ynshaw  did  not  care ;  she  thought  it  was  strange  ;  but 
if  the  child's  father  deemed  it  best  for  her  to  remain 
with  the  Sisters,  it  was  not  for  her  to  say  anything. 
She  did  not  say  anything  —  Marguerite  was  not  her 
own  child. 

When  they  returned  to  Boston,  the  friends  of  the 
Osbornes  wished  to  know  what  had  become  of  the 
child.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  had  not  informed  any  one 
of  the  death  of  Marguerite  when  the  intelligence  came 
to  him  in  his  wife's  letter,  though  Mrs.  Wittleworth 
had  received  it  direct  from  the  same  source.  He  had 
grieved  deeply  at  the  loss  of  the  child.  Yet  his  sor 
row  was  not  alone  for  poor  Marguerite  ;  the  block  of 
stores,  every  year  increasing  in  value,  must  not  pass 
out  of  his  hands- 


116  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OR 

"  The  poor  child  had  the  cholera  in  Paris,  and  svr.s 
sent  to  the  hospital,"  was  his  reply.  "  When  t;he 
recovered,  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  was  down  with  the 
disease,  and  the  Sisters  of  Charity  took  her  in  charge. 
They  treated  her  as  a  mother  treats  her  own  child, 
and  Marguerite  loves  them  better  than  she  does  ray 
wife.  I  don't  like  to  say  anything  about  it,  and  will 
not,  except  to  most  intimate  friends ;  but  Marguerite 
was  not  Mrs.  Cheeky nshaw's  own  daughter.  They 
were  not  very  fond  of  each  other,  and  —  well,  I  think 
you  ought  to  be  able  to  understand  the  matter  without 
my  saying  anything  more.  The  poor  child  is  very 
happy  where  she  is,  and  I  had  not  the  heart  to  sep 
arate  her  from  such  dear  friends." 

Everybody  inferred  that  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  did  not 
treat  the  child  well,  and  no  more  questions  were 
asked.  The  banking-house  of  Checkynshaw,  Hart,  & 
Co.  increased  in  wealth  and  importance,  and  had  ex 
tensive  foreign  connections  in  England.  Every  year 
or  two  the  head  of  the  house  crossed  the  ocean, 
partly,  as  he  declared,  to  transact  his  business  in 
London,  and  partly  to  visit  his  child  in  France. 


THE   EICH    MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  117 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    WITTLEWORTH    FAMILY. 

WHILE  everything  appeared  to  be  well  with 
the  banker,  into  whose  exchequer  the  rev 
enues  of  the  block  of  stores  flowed  with  unintermit- 
ting  regularity,  the  affairs  of  the  other  branch  of 
the  Osborne  family  were  in  a  far  less  hopeful  con 
dition.  John  Wittleworth  drank  to  excess,  and  did 
not  attend  to  his  business.  It  was  said  that  he 
gambled  largely ;  but  it  was  not  necessary  to  add 
this  vice  to  the  other  in  order  to  rob  him  of  his 
property,  and  filch  from  him  his  good  name. 

He  failed  in  business,  and  was  unable  to  reestab 
lish  himself.  He  obtained  a  situation  as  a  clerk, 
but  his  intemperate  habits  unfitted  him  for  his  du 
ties.  If  he  could  not  take  care  of  his  own  affairs, 
much  less  could  he  manage  the  affairs  of  another. 
He  had  become  a  confirmed  sot,  had  sacrificed 
everything,  and  given  himself  up  to  the  demon  of 


118  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

the  cup.  He  became  a  ragged,  filthy  drunkard  ;  and 
as  such,  friends  who  had  formerly  honored  him  re 
fused  to  recognize  him,  or  to  permit  him  to  enter 
their  counting-rooms.  Just  before  the  opening  of  our 
story,  he  had  been  arrested  as  a  common  drunkard; 
and  it  was  even  a  relief  to  his  poor  wife  to  know 
that  he  was  safely  lodged  in  the  House  of  Cor 
rection. 

When  Mrs.  Wittleworth  found  she  could  no 
longer  depend  upon  her  natural  protector,  she  went 
to  work  with  her  own  hands,  like  an  heroic  woman, 
as  she  was.  As  soon  as  her  son  was  old  enough 
to  be  of  any  assistance  to  her,  a  place  was  found 
for  him  in  a  lawyer's  office,  where  he  received  a 
couple  of  dollars  a  week.  Her  own  health  giving 
way  under  the  drudgery  of  toil,  to  which  she  had 
never  been  accustomed,  she  was  obliged  to  depend 
more  and  more  upon  Fitz,  who,  in  the  main,  was 
not  a  bad  boy,  though  his  notions  were  not  suited 
to  the  station  in  which  he  was  compelled  to  walk. 
At  last  she  was  obliged  to  appeal  to  her  brother, 
in-law,  who  gave  Fitz  his  situation. 

Fitz  was  rather  "airy."     He  had  a  better   opinion 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  119 

of  himself  than  anybody  else  had  —  a  vicious  habit, 
which  the  world  does  not  readily  forgive.  He 
wanted  to  dress  himself  up,  and  "swell"  round 
among  bigger  men  than  himself.  His  mother  was 
disappointed  in  him,  and  tried  to  teach  him  better 
things;  but  he  believed  that  his  mother  was  only 
a  woman,  and  that  he  was  wiser,  and  more  skilful 
in  worldly  affairs,  than  she  was.  He  paid  her  three 
dollars  a  week  out  of  his  salary  of  five  dollars,  and 
in  doing  this  he  believed  that  he  discharged  his 
whole  duty  to  her. 

Perhaps  we  ought  again  to  apologize  to  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  for  leaving  him  so  long  in  such  a  dis 
agreeable  place  as  the  poor  home  of  his  first  wife's 
sister  ;  but  he  was  seated  before  the  cooking-stove, 
and  the  contemplation  of  poverty  would  do  him  no 
harm ;  so  we  shall  not  beg  his  pardon. 

The  banker  looked  around  the  room,  at  the 
meagre  and  mean  furniture,  and  then  at  the  wo 
man  herself;  her  who  had  once  been  the  belle  of 
the  circle  in  which  she  moved,  now  clothed  in  the 
cheapest  calico,  her  face  pale  and  hollow  from  hard 
work  and  ceaseless  anxiety.  Perhaps  he  found  it 


120  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

difficult  to  believe  that  she  was  the  sister  of  hia 
first  wife. 

"  Where  is  Fitz  ?  "  asked  he,  in  gruff  accents. 

"  He  has  gone  up  in  Summer  Street.  He  will 
be  back  in  a  few  minutes,"  replied  Mrs.  Wittle- 
worth,  as  she  seated  herself  opposite  the  banker, 
still  fearing  that  some  -new  calamity  was  about  to 
overtake  her. 

"  I  want  to  see  him,"  added  Mr.  Checkynshaw, 
in  the  most  uncompromising  tones. 

"  Fitz  says  you  discharged  him,"  continued  the 
poor  woman,  heaving  a  deep  sigh. 

"  I  didn't ;  he  discharged  himself.  I  could  not 
endure  the  puppy's  impudence.  But  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  I  don't  want  to  see  him  about  that." 

"I  hope  you  will  take  him  back." 

"Take  him  back  if  he  will  behave  himself." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  asked  she,  eagerly. 

"  I  will ;  that  is,  if  it  turns  out  that  he  was  not 
concerned  in  robbing  my  safe." 

"In  what?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"My  safe  has  been  robbed  of  some  of  my  most 
valuable  papers." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  123 

«  Robbed ! " 

"Yes,  robbed." 

"  Did  Fitz  do  it  ?  "  gasped  the  wretched  mother ; 
and  this  was  even  a  greater  calamity  than  any  she 
had  dreaded. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he  did  or  not ;  that's  what 
I  want  to  find  out ;  that's  what  I  want  to  see  him  for." 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  proceeded  to  relate  the  circum 
stances  under  which  the  safe  had  been  robbed.  Be 
fore  he  had  finished,  Fitz  came  in,  and  his  mother 
was  too  impatient  to  wait  for  her  distinguished 
visitor  to  set  any  of  his  verbal  traps  «nd  snares. 
She  bluntly  informed  her  hopeful  son  that  he  was 
suspected  of  being  concerned  in  the  robbery. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,"  protested  Fitz.  "  There's  nothing 
too  mean  for  Checkynshaw  to  say." 

"  Don't  be  saucy,  Fitz.  Try  to  be  civil,"  pleaded 
his  mother. 

"  Be  civil !  What,  when  he  comes  here  to  accuse 
me  of  robbing  his  safe  ?  I  can't  stand  that,  and  I 
won't,  if  I  know  myself,"  replied  Fitz,  shaking  his 
head  vehemently  at  the  banker. 


122  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OK 

"I  haven't  accused  you  of  anything,  Fitz,"  added 
Mr.  Cheeky nshaw,  very  mildly  for  him.  "  I  came 
to  inquire  about  it." 

"Do  you  think  if  I  did  it  that  I  would  tell  you 
of  it  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you  some  questions." 

"Well,  you  needn't!" 

"Very  well,  young  man,"  said  the  banker,  rising 
from  his  chair,  "  if  you  don't  choose  to  answer  me, 
you  can  answer  somebody  else.  I'll  have  you  ar 
rested." 

"Arrested  !  I'd  like  to  see  you  do  if!  What  for? 
I  know  something  about  law ! "  He  had  been  an 
errand  boy  in  a  lawyer's  office ! 

"  Don't  be  so  rude,  Fitz,"  begged  his  mother. 

"  Arrest  me ! "  repeated  the  violent  youth,  whose 
dignity  had  been  touched  by  the  threat.  "  Do  it ! 
Why  didn't  you  do  it  before  you  came  here?  You 
can't  scare  me !  I  wasn't  bi-ought  up  in  the  city  to 
be  frightened  by  a  brick  house.  Why  don't  you 
go  for  a  constable,  and  take  me  up  now  ?  I'd  like 
to  have  you  do  it." 

"I  will  do  it  if  you  don't  behave  yourself,"  said 


THE    KICK    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  123 

the  banker,  beginning  to  be  a  little  ruffled  by  the 
violent  and  unreasonable  conduct  of  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth. 

"  I  wish  you  would !  I  really  wish  you  would  !  I 
should  like  to  know  what  my  friend  Choate  would 
say  about  it." 

"  How  silly  you  talk  !  "  exclaimed  his  mother, 
quite  as  much  disgusted  as  her  stately  visitor. 

"  You  may  let  him  badger  you,  if  you  like,  moth 
er  ;  but  he  shall  not  come  any  odds  on  me  —  not 
if  I  know  it,  and  I  think  I  do !  " 

"It  is  useless  for  me  to  attempt  to  say  anything 
to  such  a  young  porcupine,"  added  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw,  taking  his  hat  from  the  table. 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  burst  into  tears.  She  had  hoped 
to  effect  a  reconciliation  between  her  son  and  his 
employe]1,  upon  which  her  very  immunity  from  blank 
starvation  seemed  to  depend.  The  case  was  a  des 
perate  one,  and  the  bad  behavior  of  Fitz  seemed 
to  destroy  her  last  hope. 

"I  will  give  up  now,  Fitz,  and  go  to  the  alms- 
house,"  sobbed  she. 

Fitz  was  inclined  to  give  up  also  when  this  stun- 


124  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

• 

ning  acknowledgment  was  made  in  the  presence  of 
his  great  enemy,  the  arch  dragon  of  respectability. 

"  I  am  willing  to  work,  but  not  to  be  trodden 
upon,"  added  he,  sullenly  ;  but  his  spirit  for  the  mo 
ment  seemed  to  be  subdued. 

"  Mr.  Checkynshaw  wishes  to  ask  you  some  ques 
tions,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  answer  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Wittleworth,  a  little  encouraged  by  the  more 
hopeful  aspect  of  her  belligerent  son. 

"Ask  away,"  replied  Fitz,  settling  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  fixing  his  gaze  upon  the  stove. 

"  Do  you  know  Pilky  Wayne  ?  "  asked  the  banker, 
who  had  a  certain  undefined  fear  of  Fitz  since  the 
robbery,  which,  however,  the  immensity  of  his  dig 
nity  prevented  him  from  exposing. 

"  Know  who  ?  "  demanded  Fitz,  looking  up. 

"Pilky  Wayne." 

"  Never  heard  of  him  before." 

tt  Yes,  you  have ;  you  made  an  arrangement  with 
him  to  rob  my  safe,"  continued  the  banker,  who 
could  not  help  browbeating  his  inferior. 

"Did  I?  Well,  if  I  did,  I  did,"  answered  Fitz, 
shaking  his  head.  "  What  do  you  think  my  friend 
Choate  would  say  to  that  ?  " 


THE    KICH   MAN^S    DAUGHTER.  125 

"  He  would  say  you  were  a  silly  fellow,"  interposed 
Mrs.  Wittleworth.  "  Don't  be  impudent,  Fitz." 

"  Well,  I  won't  be  impudent !  "  said  Fitz,  with  a 
kind  of  suppressed  chuckle. 

"There  were,  or  you  thought  there  were,  certain 
papers  in  my  safe  which  might  be  useful  to  you," 
added  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

"I  don't  believe  there  were  any  letters  from  my 
cousin  Marguerite  among  them,"  replied  Fitz,  with 
a  sneering  laugh.  "  Marguerite  must  be  able  to 
write  very  pretty  letters  by  this  time." 

"Be  still,  Fitz,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  Fitz,  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  you,"  con 
tinued  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  in  the  most  pliable  tones 
Fitz  had  ever  heard  the  banker  use  to  him. 

"  I  thought  you  did.  Accusing  a  gentleman  of 
robbing  your  safe  is  not  exactly  the  way  to  make 
friends  with  him,"  said  Fitz,  so  much  astonished  at 
the  great  man's  change  of  tone  that  he  hardly  knew 
what  to  say. 

"  I  accuse  you  of  nothing.  Fitz,  if  you  want  your 
place  in  my  office  again,  you  can  return  to-morrow 
moraine." 


126  MAKE   OR   BREAK,   OR 

Mr.  Wittleworth  looked  at  his  disconsolate  mother. 
A  gleam  of  triumph  rested  on  his  face.  The  banker, 
the  head  and  front  of  the  great  house  of  Checkyn- 
shaw,  Hart,  &  Co.,  had  fully  and  directly  recognized 
the  value  of  his  services ;  had  fairly  "  backed  out," 
and  actually  entreated  him  to  return,  and  fill  the 
vacant  place,  which  no  other  person  was  competent 
to  fill !  That  was  glory  enough  for  one  day.  But 
he  concluded  that  it  would  be  better  for  the  banker 
to  come  down  a  peg  farther,  and  apologize  for  his 
abusive  treatment  of  his  confidential  clerk. 

"  Certainly  he  will  be  glad  to  take  the  place  again, 
sir,"  said  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  who  was  anxious  to 
help  along  the  negotiation. 

"  Perhaps  I  will  ;  and  then  again,  perhaps  I  will 
not,"  replied  Mr.  Wittleworth,  who  was  beginning 
to  be  airy  again,  and  threw  himself  back  on  his 
chair,  sucked  his  teeth,  and  looked  as  magnificent  as 
an  Eastern  prince.  "Are  you  willing  to  double  my 
salary,  Mr.  Checkynshaw  ?  " 

"After  what  I  have  heard  here  to-night,  I  am," 
answered  the  banker,  promptly.  "  I  ought  to  have 
done  it  before  ;  and  I  should,  had  I  known  your 
mother's  circumstances." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  127 

That  was  very  unlike  Mr.  Checkynshaw.  Mr. 
Wittleworth  did  not  like  it.  His  salary  was  to  be 
doubled  as  an  act  of  charity,  rather  than  because  he 
deserved  such  a  favor.  It  was  not  like  the  banker 
to  want  him  at  all  after  what  had  happened.  There 
was  something  deep  under  it;  but  Fitz  was  deep 
himself. 

"  Perhaps  you  might  help  me  in  finding  my  pa 
pers.  Of  course  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  the  three 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  or  so  which  was  stolen 
with  them,"  suggested  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

"  Perhaps  I  might ;  perhaps  I  have  some  skill  in 
business  of  that  kind,  though  I  suppose  it  doesn't 
exactly  become  me  to  say  so,"  added  Fitz,  stroking 
his  chin.  "  But  if  you  mean  to  intimate  that  I 
know  anything  about  them,  you  are  utterly  and 
entirely  mistaken.  I'm  an  honest  man  —  the  no 
blest  work  of  God." 

"  I  will  give  you  ten  dollars  a  week  for  the  future, 
if  you  will  return,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  im 
patiently. 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  almost  gasped  the  eager 
mother. 


128  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR, 

Fitz  was  deep.  The  banker  was  anxious.  It 
meant  something.  Fitz  thought  lie  knew  what  it 
meant. 

"  On  the  whole,  I  think  I  will  not  return,"  replied 
he,  deliberately. 

','  Are  you  crazy,  Fitz  ? "  groaned  Mrs.  Wittle- 
worth,  in  despair. 

"Never  a  more  sane  man  walked  the  earth.  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  knows  what  he  is  about ;  I  know 
what  I  am  about." 

"  "We  shall  both  starve,  Fitz ! "  cried  his  mother. 

"  On  the  contrary,  mother,  we  shall  soon  be  in 
possession  of  that  block  of  stores,  with  an  income 
of  five  or  six  thousand  a  year,"  added  Fitz,  com 
placently. 

"  The  boy's  an  idiot !  "  exclaimed  the  banker,  as 
he  took  his  hat,  and  rushed  out  of  the  house. 


THE   RICH    HAN'S   DAUGHTER.  129 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    MOUSE    BUSINESS. 

WHILE  Maggie  Maggimore  took  upon  herself 
the  blessed  task  of  nursing  the  barber,  Leo 
charged  himself  with  the  duty  of  providing  for  the 
wants  of  the  family.  Each  had  assumed  all  that  one 
person  could  be  expected  to  achieve.  It  was  no  small 
thing  for  a  girl  of  fifteen  to  take  the  entire  care  of  a 
helpless  invalid ;  and  it  was  no  small  thing  for  a  boy 
of  fifteen  to  take  upon  himself  the  task  of  providing 
for  the  expenses  of  the  house,  and  the  medical  attend 
ance  of  the  sick  man. 

It  would  have  been  much  easier  for  Leo  to  fail  in 
his  assumed  task  than  for  Maggie  to  do  so.  Even  a 
young  man  of  so  much  importance  as  Fitzherbert 
Wittleworth,  upon  whom  the  salvation  of  the  great 
house  of  Checkynshaw,  Hart,  &  Co.  seemed  to  depend, 
toiled  for  the  meagre  pittance  of  five  dollars  a  week. 
Leo  had  some  acquaintance  with  the  late  clerk  in  the 


130  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OS 

private  office  of  the  banker,  and  he  had  listened  with 
wonder  to  the  astounding  achievements  of  Fitz  in  the 
postal  and  financial  departments  of  the  house.  Of 
course  Mr.  Wittle worth  would  be  a  partner  in  the 
concern  as  soon  as  he  was  twenty-one,  if  not  before; 
for,  besides  his  own  marvellous  abilities,  he  had  the 
additional  advantage  of  being  a  relative  of  the  distin 
guished  head  of  the  concern. 

Leo  was  abashed  at  his  own  insignificance  when  he 
stood  in  the  presence  of  the  banker's  clerk.  If  such 
an  astonishing  combination  of  talent  as  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth  possessed  could  be  purchased  for  five  dollars  a 
week,  what  could  lie,  who  was  only  a  mere  tinker,  ex 
pect  to  obtain  ?  Half  that  sum  would  have  been  an 
extravagant  valuation  of  his  own  services,  under  ordi 
nary  circumstances.  But  beneath  the  burden  which 
now  rested  upon  him,  he  felt  an  inspiration  which  had 
never  before  fired  his  soul ;  he  felt  called  upon  to  per 
form  a  miracle. 

He  was  born  with  a  mechanical  genius,  and  he  felt 
it  working  within  him.  There  was  no  end  of  wooden 
tiip-hammers,  saw-mills,  and  other  working  machines 
he  had  invented  and  constructed.  Under  the  pressure 


THE    KICK    MAX'S    DAUGHTER.  131 

of  the  present  necessity  he  felt  able  to  accomplish  bet 
ter  things.  Something  must  be  done  which  would 
produce  fifteen,  or  at  least  ten,  dollars  a  week.  It  was 
no  use  to  think  it  couldn't  be  done ;  it  must  be  done. 
It  looked  like  a  species  of  lunacy  on  his  part  to  flatter 
himself  that  it  was  possible  to  make  even  more  than  a 
journeyman  mechanic's  wages. 

Leo  had  in  his  busy  brain  half  a  dozen  crude  plans 
of  simple  machines.  Often,  when  he  saw  people  at 
work,  he  tried  to  think  how  the  labor  might  be  done 
by  machinery.  As  he  sat  in  the  kitchen,  where  Mag 
gie  was  sewing  or  preparing  the  dinner,  he  was  de 
vising  a  way  to  perform  the  task  with  wood  and  iron. 
Only  a  few  days  before  the  illness  of  the  barber,  he 
had  seen  her  slicing  potatoes  to  fry,  and  the  operation 
had  suggested  a  potato  slicer,  which  would  answer 
equally  well  for  cucumbers,  onions,  and  apples. 

Sitting  on  the  bench,  he  was  thinking  of  this  appa 
ratus,  when  fifteen  dollars  a  week  became  a  necessity. 
But  the  machine  required  more  iron  than  wood  work, 
and  he  had  not  the  means  to  do  the  former,  and  no 
capital  to  invest  in  other  people's  labor.  Then  he 
turned  his  attention  to  a  new  kind  of  boot-jack  he 


132  MAKE    OB    BREAK,    OB 

had  in  his  mind  —  an  improvement  on  one  he  had 
seen,  which  could  be  folded  up  and  put  in  a  traveller's 
carpet-bag.  As  this  implement  was  all  wood  except 
the  hinges  and  screws,  it  looked  more  hopeful.  He 
could  make  half  a  dozen  of  them  in  a  day,  and  they 
would  sell  for  half  a  dollar  apiece.  He  was  thinking 
of  an  improvement  on  the  improvement,  when  the 
stampede  of  the  mice  deranged  his  ideas ;  but  they 
gave  him  a  new  one. 

White  mice  were  beautiful  little  ci'eatures.  Their 
fur  was  so  very  white,  their  eyes  so  very  pink,  and 
their  paws  so  very  cunning,  that  everybody  liked  to 
see  them.  Even  the  magnificent  Mr.  Checkynshaw 
had  deigned  to  regard  them  with  some  attention,  and 
had  condescended  to  say  that  his  daughter  Elinora 
would  be  delighted  to  see  them.  Then  the  houses, 
and  the  gymnastic  apparatus  which  Leo  attached  to 
them,  rendered  them  tenfold  more  interesting.  At  a 
store  in  Court  Street  the  enterprising  young  man  had 
Been  them  sold  for  half  a  dollar  a  pair;  indeed,  he 
had  paid  this  sum  for  the  ancestral  couple  from  which 
had  descended,  in  the  brief  space  of  a  year  and  a 
haK  the  numerous  tribes  and  families  that  peopled 
t*i  miniature  palaces  on  the  basement  walls. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  133 

At  this  rate  his  present  stock  was  worth  seventy- 
five  dollars  —  the  coveted  salary  of  five  whole  weeks! 
In  another  month,  at  least  fifty  more  little  downy 
pink-eyes  would  emerge  from  their  nests,  adding 
twenty-five  dollars  more  to  his  capital  stock  in  trade ! 

Leo  had  already  decided  to  go  into  the  mouse 
business. 

He  was  counting  his  chickens  before  they  were 
hatched,  and  building  magnificent  castles  in  the  air; 
but  even  the  most  brilliant  success,  as  well  as  the  most 
decided  failure,  is  generally  preceded  by  a  vast  amount 
of  ground  and  lofty  tumbling  in  the  imagination.  If 
the  man  in  Court  Street  could  sell  a  pair  of  white 
mice  for  fifty  cents,  and  a  beggarly  tin  box  with  a 
whirligig  for  a  dollar,  making  the  establishment  and 
its  occupants  cost  a  dollar  and  a  half,  why  would  not 
one  of  his  splendid  palaces,  with  two  or  three  pairs 
of  mice  in  it,  bring  three,  or  even  five  dollars?  That 
was  the  point,  and  there  was  the  argument  all  lying  in 
a  nutshell. 

Leo  had  faith.  What  would  a  rich  man  care  for 
five  dollars  when  he  wanted  to  please  his  children? 
He  had  watched  his  mice  day  after  day,  and  week 


134  MAKE    OK   BREAK,   OR 

after  week,  by  the  hour  at  a  time,  and  had  never  failed 
to  be  amused  at  their  gambols.  Everybody  that  came 
to  the  house  was  delighted  with  them.  If  the  man  in 
Court  Street  could  sell  them,  he  could.  There  was 
money  in  the  speculation,  Leo  reasoned,  and  it  should 
not  fail  for  the  want  of  a  fair  trial. 

He  could  make  houses  of  various  sizes,  styles,  and 
prices,  and  thus  suit  all  tastes.  He  could  stock  each 
one  with  as  many  iv.ice  as  the  customer  desired.  He 
cpuld  make  a  pretty  elaborate  establishment  in  two 
days — five-dollar  size ;  and  of  the  smaller  and  plainer 
kind  —  two-dollar  pattern  —  he  could  make  two  in  a 
day. 

The  palace  on  the  bench  was  nearly  completed, 
and  he  went  to  work  at  once  and  finished  it.  It  had 
a  glass  front,  so  that  the  dainty  little  occupants  of 
the  institution  could  not  get  out,  and  the  foe  of  white 
mice,  the  terrible  cat,  could  not  get  in.  This  estab 
lishment  had  been  intended  for  Mr.  Stroprnore;  but 
as  that  gentleman  had  not  been  informed  of  his  pur 
pose  to  present  it,  Leo  decided  that  it  should  be  used 
to  initiate  the  experiment  on  whose  success  so  much 
depended. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  135 

It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night  when  the  grand  palace 
on  the  bench  was  finished.  Leo  put  some  cotton 
wool  into  the  sleeping  apartments,  and  then  trans 
ferred  three  pairs  of  mice  from  the  most  densely 
populated  house  to  the  new  one.  He  watched  them 
for  a  while,  as  they  explored  their  elegant  hotel,  go 
ing  up  stairs  and  down,  snuffing  in  every  corner, 
standing  upon  their  hind  legs,  and  taking  the  most 
minute  observations  of  the  surroundings. 

Leo  was  entirely  satisfied  with  the  woj&  of  his 
hands,  and  with  the  conduct  of  the  mice  who  had 
been  promoted  to  a  residence  in  its  elegant  and  spa 
cious  quarters.  If  there  was  not  five  dollars  in  that 
establishment,  then  the  rich  men  of  Boston  were 
stingy  and  ungrateful.  If  they  could  not  appreciate 
that  superb  palace,  and  those  supple  little  beauties 
who  held  court  within  its  ample  walls,  why,  they 
were  not  worthy  to  be  citizens  of  the  Athens  of 
America ! 

Leo  went  up  stairs.  Andre  still  slept,  and  Maggie 
sat  by  the  bedside,  patiently  watching  him  in  his 
slumbers.  He  crept  softly  into  the  front  room,  and 
looked  at  the  pale  face  of  his  father.  His  heart  was 


136  MAKE    OR   BKEAK,    OK 

lighter  than  it  had  been  before  since  the  news  of  the 
calamity  was  told  to  him.  He  was  full  of  hope,  and 
almost  believed  that  he  had  solved  the  problem  of 
supplying  all  the  wants  of  the  family. 

"You  must  sleep  yourself,  Maggie,"  said  he,  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Hush ! "  said  she,  fearful  that  the  sleeper  might  be 
disturbed,  as  she  led  the  way  into  the  rear  room. 

"  I  will  sit  up  half  the  night,  Maggie." 

"No,  Leo;  there  is  no  need  of  that.  I  wake  very 
easily,  and  I  can  sleep  enough  in  the  rocking-chair. 
You  seem  to  be  quite  cheerful  now,  Leo,"  added  she, 
noticing  the  change  which  had  come  over  him. 

"  I  feel  so,  Maggie.  You  say  we  shall  want  fifteen 
dollars  a  week." 

"No,  you  said  so,  Leo.  I  might  take  in  sewing; 
but  I  don't  think  both  of  us  can  make  anything  like 
that  sum.  I  am  very  much  worried.  I  don't  know 
what  will  become  of  us." 

"Don't  be  worried  any  more.  I'm  going  to  make 
that  money  myself.  You  needn't  do  anything  but 
take  care  of  father;  and  I'll  help  you  do  the  house- 
work,"  added  Leo,  cheerfully. 


THE   KICK   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  137 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  into  the  mouse  business." 

"Into  what?" 

"The  mouse  business,"  replied  Leo,  gravely. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  asked  Maggie, 
puzzled  as  much  by  his  gravity  as  by  the  unintelligi 
ble  phrase  he  had  used. 

Leo  explained  what  he  meant,  and  argued  the  case 
with  much  skill  and  enthusiasm. 

Maggie  would  have  laughed  if  she  had  not  been 
solemnly  impressed  by  the  condition  of  her  father, 
and  by  the  burden  of  responsibility  that  rested  upon 
her  as  his  nurse.  She  went  into  the  basement,  and 
looked  at  the  house  which  Leo  had  just  finished.  It 
was  certainly  very  pretty,  and  the  mice  in  it  were 
•very  cunning. 

"  You  don't  think  any  one  will  give  you  five  dollars 
for  that  house  —  do  you?"  said  she,  as  she  joined  him 
in  the  back  room  again. 

"  I  mean  to  ask  six  for  it,  and  if  folks  won't  give 
it,  they  are  mean.  That  is  all  I've  got  to  say  about 
it,"  replied  Leo. 

"But  they  won't." 


138  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"Why,  the  mice  alone  are  worth  a  dollar  and  a 
half;  and  there  is  two  days'  work  in  the  house,  be 
sides  the  stock  and  the  glass.  I  certainly  expect  to 
get  six  dollars  for  the  concern,  though  I  shall  not 
complain  if  I  don't  get  but  five.  I  can  make  from 
three  to  a  dozen  of  them  in  a  week,  and  if  I  don't 
make  at  least  fifteen  dollars  a  week  out  of  the  mouse 
business,  I  shall  be  disappointed  —  that's  all." 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed,  Leo,"  replied 
Maggie,  with  a  sigh,  as  she  thought  what  a  sad  thing 
it  would  be  when  the  brilliant  air-castle  tumbled  to 
the  ground. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall ;  if  I  do,  I  can't  help  it.  But  if 
this  fails,  I  have  got  another  string  to  my  bow." 

"What's  that?" 

"  I  shall  go  into  the  boot-jack  business  next ;  and  I 
hope  to  get  up  my  machine  for  slicing  potatoes,  and 
such  things,  soon." 

"O,  dear,  Leo!  You  are  full  of  strange  ideas.  I 
only  hope  that  some  of  them  will  work  well,"  added 
Maggie. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  reasonable,  sis.  I'm  not  going  to 
give  up  if  a  thing  fails  once,  twice,  or  nineteen  times. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  139 

I'm  going  to  keep  pulling.  I've  got  half  a  dozen 
things  in  my  head ;  if  five  of  them  fail,  I  shall  make 
a  big  thing  out  of  the  sixth." 

"  I  hope  you  will ;  you  are  so  patient  and  perse 
vering  that  you  ought  to  succeed  in  something." 

"  O,  I  shall ;  you  may  depend  upon  that !  Make  or 
break,  I'm  bound  to  succeed  in  something." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  make  or  break,'  Leo  ?  It 
sounds  just  as  though  you  meant  to  make  money  if 
you  sacrificed  everything." 

"I  don't  mean  that." 

"I  would  rather  go  to  the  almshouse  than  be  dis 
honest.  I  can't  think  of  anything  more  horrid  than 
being  wicked." 

"  Nor  I  either.  I  don't  mean  to  be  dishonest,  Mag 
gie.  I  would  rather  be  a  good  man  than  a  rich  one, 
any  day;  but  I  think  a  man  can  be  both.  A  good 
man,  with  lots  of  money,  is  better  than  a  good  man 
without  it ;  for  he  can  do  good  with  it.  When  I  say, 
'make  or  break,'  I  don't  mean  anything  bad  by  it. 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean,  Maggie.  It  seems  to  me, 
when  I  get  hold  of  a  good  thing,  I  ought  to  keep 
pulling  till  I  carry  my  point,  or  pull  away  till  some- 


140  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

thing  breaks.  I  don't  mean  to  risk  everything  on  a 
turn  of  the  wheel  of  fortune ;  nothing  of  that  sort.  I 
mean  to  persevere  and  stick  to  anything  so  long  as 
there's  any  chance  of  success  —  till  the  strings  break, 
and  the  whole  thing  tumbles  down.  That's  my  idea." 
The  idea  was  satisfactory  to  Maggie,  and  she  re 
turned  to  her  patient,  while  Leo  went  up  to  bed; 
but  not  to  sleep  for  hours,  for  the  "mouse  business" 
excited  his  brain,  and  kept  him  awake. 


THE   EICH   MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  141 


CHAPTER    XII. 

LEO'S    WONDERFUL    PERFORMERS. 

MAGGIE,  at  the  sick  bed  of  Andre,  slept  even 
more  than  Leo.  She  had  a  lounge  in  the 
room,  placed  near  her  charge,  on  which  she  rested 
comfortably,  though  she  rose  several  times  in  the 
night  to  assure  herself  that  all  was  well  with  her 
father.  In  the  morning  Andre  seemed  to  be  in  the 
entire  possession  of  his  faculties.  He  had  slumbered 
quietly  all  night,  hardly  opening  his  eyes  after  he 
took  the  doctor's  prescription. 

He  awoke  before  his  attentive  nurse.  He  had 
but  a  faint  remembrance  of  the  events  of  the  pre 
ceding  evening ;  for,  after  he  came  out  of  the  fit, 
he  was  in  a  kind  of  stupor.  He  had  noticed  Maggie 
and  Leo  at  the  house  of  the  banker ;  but  everything 
seemed  like  a  dream. 

"Maggie,"  said  he,  as  he  looked  around  the  famil 
iar  apartment,  and  saw  her  lying  on  the  lounge. 


142      .  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  went  to  him,  glad  to 
hear  the  sound  of  his  voice,  but  fearful  that  the  call 
might  be  the  prelude  of  another  attack.  He  smiled 
as  she  approached  him,  and  made  an  effort  to  ex 
tend  his  right  hand  to  her ;  but  he  could  not 
move  it. 

"  Father ! "  exclaimed  the  fond  girl,  as  she  bent 
over  him  and  kissed  his  pale  face,  now  slightly 
flushed  with  fever. 

"  I  have  been  very  ill,"  he  added. 

"  You  have,  indeed ;  but  you  are  better  now ;  and 
I  am  so  glad,  rnon  pere!" 

"  Ah,  ma  fille,  you  are  a  good  girl !  You  have 
been  by  my  side  all  night.  It  was  selfish  for  me 
to  wake  you." 

"  No,  no !  It  was  not.  I'm  glad  you  did.  I  am 
RO  happy  to  find  you  better!" 

"  What  ails  me  ?  I  can't  move  my  right  arm, 
nor  my  right  leg,"  asked  Andre,  struggling  to  raise 
his  limbs.  "There  is  no  feeling  in  my  right  side." 

"The  doctor  will  come  by  and  by,  and  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

"  My  head  feels  very  strange,"  added  the  sufferer. 


THE    RICH   MAX'S   DAUGHTER.  143 

"I  am  sorry,  mon  pere.  What  can  I  do?"  said 
Maggie,  tenderly. 

"  Give  me  some  cold  water." 

She  gave  him  the  drink,  supporting  his  head 
with  her  arm.  It  was  plain,  even  to  Maggie,  that 
Andre  was  in  a  very  bad  way. 

"  Go  up  stairs,  and  go  to  bed  now,  Maggie.  You 
have  been  up  all  night,"  said  he,  with  a  loving 
glance  at  her. 

"  No,  mon  pere,  I  have  no  need  to  go  to  bed.  I 
have  slept  on  the  lounge  nearly  all  night.  I  feel 
quite  bright,  only  I'm  so  sad  to  think  you  are  sick." 

"  I  shall  be  well  soon.  I  must  be  well  soon,"  he 
added,  looking  anxiously  at  her. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  well  soon ;  but  it  may  be 
several  weeks  before  you  are  able  to  go  out,"  re 
plied  Maggie,  wishing  to  have  him  reconciled  to  his 
lot  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  Several  weeks,  Maggie  !  O,  no !  I  must  go  to 
the  shop  sooner  than  that." 

"  You  must  be  very  patient,  mon  pere" 

"  I  will  be  patient,  Maggie ;  but  I  must  go  to  the 
shop  soon." 


144  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OR 

w  Don't  think  of  the  shop  yet." 

"My  poor  children!  What  will  become  of  you ^ 
I  have  no  money.  I  must  work,  or  you  will  starve, 
and  be  turned  out  of  the  house  because  the  rent  n 
not  paid.  Indeed  I  must  go  to  the  shop,  Maggie.'' 

"But  you  cannot.  You  are  not  able  to  lift  your 
right  arm  at  all,  and  you  are  so  weak  you  couM 
not  stand  up.  Do  be  patient,  and  not  think  at  aU 
of  the  shop." 

"  I  must  do  as  you  bid  me  now,  Maggie." 

"Then  don't  think  of  the  shop,  or  anything  but 
oar  nice  little  home,  where  we  have  always  been 
BO  happy." 

"  How  shall  we  pay  the  rent  if  I  lie  here  ?  "Where 
will  you  get  food  to  eat  and  clothes  to  wear? "de 
manded  Andre,  with  something  like  a  shudder  of 
his  paralyzed  frame. 

"Don't  think  of  those  things." 

"  I  must.  I  was  wicked  not  to  '  save  up  some 
money." 

"  No,  you  were  not  wicked ;  you  were  always  as 
good  as  you  could  be.  The  good  God  will  take 
care  of  us." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  145 

"  They  will  send  us  all  to  the  almshouse." 

"  No,  no  ;  Leo  is  going  to  make  heaps  of  money ! " 
replied  Maggie,  though  she  had  not  much  confi 
dence  in  her  brother's  brilliant  scheme,  or  even  in 
the  inventions  that  reposed  in  his  active  brain. 
"  Can't  you  go  to  sleep  again,  mon  pere  ? " 

"  I  will  try,"  replied  he,  meekly.  "  I  will  if  you 
go  to  bed,  and  sleep.  What  should  I  do  if  you 
were  sick?" 

"  I  shall  not  be  sick.  I  have  slept  enough.  I 
will  go  and  make  you  some  beef  tea,  and  get  break 
fast  for  Leo.  I  shall  hear  you  if  you  call." 

Leo  had  made  the  fire  in  the  cooking-stove,  and 
in  a  short  time  the  odor  of  fried  sausages  pervaded 
the  house  ;  the  beef  tea  was  in  course  of  prepara 
tion,  and  the  coffee  was  boiling  on  the  stove.  Mag 
gie  was  as  busy  as  a  bee ;  but  every  five  minutes 
she  ran  into  the  front  room,  and  asked  Andre  if 
he  wanted  anything.  She  went  to  the  front  door, 
where  the  baker  had  deposited  half  a  dozen  two- 
cent  rolls,  each  of  which  was  nearly  as  big  as  one 
sold  for  five  cents  now. 

For  a  girl  of  fifteen,  Maggie  was  an  excellent 
10 


146  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

cook  ;  indeed,  she  would  have  been  regarded  as  a 
prodigy  in  this  respect  in  our  day  and  generation. 
She  had  acquired  all  her  skill  from  Andre,  whose 
accomplishments  were  almost  unlimited.  When  he 
first  came  to  Boston,  he  had  boarded  out;  but,  when 
"Maggie  was  eight  years  old,  he  had  taken  this  house. 
At  first  he  had  done  the  housework  himself,  with 
what  little  help  she  could  give  him,  till  now  she 
had  entirely  relieved  him  from  any  care  of  this  kind. 
At  this  time  he  had  taken  Leo  from  the  almshouse, 
to  be  her  companion  in  his  absence. 

Breakfast  was  soon  ready ;  and  Leo  was  called 
up  from  the  workshop,  where  he  had  already  got 
out  a  portion  of  the  stock  for  four  small  mouse- 
houses,  each  intended  to  accommodate  a  single  pair 
of  mice.  He  was  still  cheerful  and  hopeful,  and 
went  in  to  see  Andre  before  lie  sat  down  at  the 
table.  He  told  his  fath2r  he  was  sure  he  could 
make  ten  dollars  a  week  by  his  splendid  enterprise. 
He  intended  to  take  the  palace  he  had  finished  up 
to  State  Street,  for  sale,  at  noon  that  day.  The 
problem  would  soon  be  solved,  and  he  was  already 
nearly  as  well  satisfied  as  though  he  had  the  price 
of  his  curious  merchandise  in  his  pocket. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  147 

After  breakfast  he  returned  to  the  shop.  He  was 
sad  when  he  thought  of  staying  away  from  school, 
and  of  giving  up  the  medal  he  had  set  his  heart 
upon  ;  but,  then,  it  was  a  very  great  pleasure  to  do 
something  for  his  devoted  father,  who  had  been  so 
good  to  him.  It  was  a  great  sacrifice  that  he  was 
called  upon  to  make ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it, 
and  he  tried  to  yield  cheerfully  to  the  necessity  of 
the  occasion.  Gladly  and  hopefully  he  sawed  and 
planed,  and  squared,  and  grooved,  and  moitised  his 
work,  and  nailed  the  parts  together. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  doctor  came.  He  was  as  gen 
tle  and  kind  as  he  had  been  the  evening  before, 
Andre  was  partially  paralyzed  on  one  side  of  his 
frame  ;  but  Dr.  Fisher  was  quite  hopeful  of  his 
patient,  though  it  was  not  likely  that  he  could  go 
to  work  for  some  months.  The  physician  was  much 
pleased  with  Maggie,  and  when  he  was  taking  his 
leave  he  asked  for  Leo. 

"  He  is  in  his  shop  at  work,"  said  Maggie.  "  Every 
one  that  comes  here  goes  down  to  see  his  white 
mice;  perhaps  you  would  like  to  do  so." 

"  I    would,"  replied   the  doctor,  with  one  of  thoa** 


148  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

benevolent  smiles  which  all  who  knew  him  will  r^ 
member  to  the  end  of  their  days. 

Maggie  conducted  him  to  the  basement,  and  then 
returned  to  Andre's  chamber.  The  doctor  examined 
the  cages  and  palaces  with  wondering  interest,  though 
the  mice  were  all  asleep  in  their  lairs.  Leo  put  a 
little  canary  seed  in  the  grand  parade  of  each  house, 
and  this  was  quite  enough  to  rouse  them  from  their 
slumbers,  and  induce  them  to  exhibit  themselves  to 
the  astonished  visitor. 

"  These  are  my  performing  mice,"  said  Leo,  point 
ing  to  a  house  in  which  seven  full-grown  ones  were 
nibbling  the  seed. 

"What  do  they  perform?"  laughed  the  doctor. 

"I'll  show  you,  sir." 

Leo  swept  out  the  canary  seed  from  the  grand 
parade,  so  that  the  little  actors  should  have  nothing 
to  distract  their  attention.  Taking  six  little  sticks 
—  that  looked  something  like  guns  —  he  rapped  with 
his  finger-nail  on  the  floor  of  the  house.  The  seven 
mice  stood  up  on  their  hind  legs,  in  a  straight  line, 
like  a  file  of  soldiers.  He  then  gave  each  of  the 
first  six  his  musket,  and  to  the  seventh  a  sword. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  149 

"  Shoulder  —  arms  !  "  said  he,  with  a  movement 
of  his  forefinger,  which  probably  had  more  effect 
than  the  words. 

The  mice,  with  becoming  gravity,  obeyed  the  or 
der,  and  successively  went  through  four  movements 
in  the  manual  of  arms.  Then  one  of  the  little  sol 
diers  was  deprived  of  his  gun,  and  Leo  explained 
that  he  was  a  deserter,  and  was  to  be  shot  for  his 
crime.  At  a  movement  of  the  boy's  forefinger,  the 
culprit  took  his  station  at  one  side  of  the  grand 
parade,  while  his  companions  formed  a  line  on  the 
other  side,  with  their  muskets  pointed  at  the  de 
serter. 

"  Fire ! "  said  Leo,  at  the  same  time  dropping  a 
torpedo  on  the  floor  of  the  house,  which  exploded. 

The  infamous  wretch  of  a  white  mouse,  which  had 
basely  deserted  his  flag,  dropped  upon  his  back,  and 
lay  as  still  as  though  he  had  actually  suffered  the 
extreme  penalty  of  martial  law.  It  must  be  added 
that  the  captain  of  the  firing  party  was  so  frightened 
by  the  noise  of  the  torpedo  that  he  scampered  away 
into  his  nest,  much  to  the  mortification  of  Leo ;  but 
he  was  recalled,  and  compelled  to  face  the  music  at 
the  head  of  his  squad. 


150  MAKE    OK   BREAK,    OR 

Leo  rapped  again  on  the  floor,  and  the  defunct 
mouse  was  suddenly  resurrected.  The  tragedy  com 
pleted,  the  squad  was  dismissed,  and  immediately  be 
came  white  mice  again,  snuffing  about  the  parade, 
doubtless  wondering  what  had  become  of  the  canary 
seed,  which  was  choice  food,  served  out  only  on 
extra  occasions. 

"  That  is  really  wonderful,"  said  Dr.  Fisher.  "  Did 
you  train  them  yourself?" 

"  Partly  ;  but  my  father  did  most  of  it,"  replied 
Leo,  who  proceeded  to  explain  the  method  by  which 
the  little  creatures  had  been  educated. 

"  Leo,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  was  about  to  depart, 
"  your  sister  seems  to  be  a  very  sensitive  young 
lady.  I  wanted  to  ask  her  some  questions  ;  but  I 
did  not  feel  quite  equal  to  it.  I  will  ask  them  of 
you ;  but  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  I  do  so  as 
your  friend." 

The  good  physician  then  inquired  into  the  circum 
stances  of  the  poor  barber.  Leo  told  him  the  exact 
truth,  but  assured  him  the  family  were  in  no  need 
of  assistance,  and  did  not  feel  like  accepting  charity. 
Modestly,  and  with  much  enthusiasm,  he  then  stated 
in  what  manner  he  intended  to  support  the  family. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  151 

"  Certainly  there  are  plenty  of  people  who  would 
be  glad  to  have  some  of  your  beautiful  little  pets, 
especially  in  these  elegant  houses  you  make,"  added 
the  physician.  "  I  would  take  one  myself  if  I  had 
time  to  attend  to  them."  The  doctor  was  a  bachelor. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  I  can  sell  them,  sir." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  take  it  amiss  if  I  mention 
the  fact  among  my  friends  and  patients  that  you 
4ave  them  for  sale,"  added  Dr.  Fisher. 

"  No,  sir ;  I'm  sure  I  should  not !  I  should  be 
very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  Then  I  will  recommend  your  wares  to  those 
who  are  able  to  buy  them  ;  and  I  trust  you  will 
drive  a  large  trade  in  the  mouse  business." 

The  doctor  went  away ;  and  Leo,  encouraged  by 
the  promise  of  the  powerful  influence  of  his  visitor, 
resumed  his  work.  At  twelve  o'clock,  when  Maggie 
called  him  to  dinner,  he  had  made  considerable  prog 
ress  in  the  four  houses  in  process  of  construction. 
When  he  had  finished  his  noonday  meal,  he  went 
out  and  found  Tom  Casey,  an  Irish  boy  whom  he 
had  befriended  in  various  ways.  Tom  agreed  to  go 
with  him  to  State  Street ;  and  the  new  "  HOTEL  DBS 


152  MAKE    OB    BREAK,    OB 

MICE  "  —  as  it  was  labelled  in  large  letters  on  the 
front  gable  —  was  loaded  upon  a  little  wagon  of 
Leo's  build,  and  they  started  for  the  busy  street, 
attended  by  a  crowd  of  curious  youngsters,  of  both 
sexes  and  of  all  conditions. 

The  mice  were  astonished  at  the  sudden  revolution 
which  was  taking  place  in  their  affairs ;  and  Leo 
was  as  anxious  as  though  the  fate  of  the  nation  de 
pended  upon  his  success. 


THE   RICH   MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  153 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WITTLEWORTH   VS.    CHECKYNSHAW. 

MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  did  a  rushing  business 
on  the  day  his  papers  were  stolen  from  the 
safe;  therefore  he  rushed  out  of  the  humble  abode 
of  Mrs.  Wittleworth.  It  is  more  than  probable  that 
he  was  entirely  sincere  when  he  called  Fitz  an  idiot; 
but  whether  he  was  or  not,  that  young  gentle 
man's  mother  was  satisfied  that  truer  words  had 
never  been  spoken.  The  banker  had  actually  offered 
to  give  him  ten  dollars  a  week,  and  Fitz  had  de 
clined  to  return.  It  was  a  degree  of  lunacy  which 
she  could  neither  understand  nor  appreciate.  She 
was  both  grieved  and  angry.  She  wept,  and  re 
proached  the  reckless  youth. 

"  I  must  give  up  in  despair,  Fitz,"  said  she,  bitterly. 
"If  I  could  support  you,  I  would." 

4  .  don't  want  you  to  support  me,  mother,"  replied 
Fitz,  stung  by  the  reproach.  "If  you  will  leave  this 
matter  to  me,  I  will  manage  it  right." 


154  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OR 

"Leave  it  to  you,  Fitz!  That  would  bring  starva^ 
tion  to  our  door." 

"No,  mother;  you  look  on  the  dark  side.  Here's 
five  dollars  for  my  week's  salary,"  he  added,  handing 
her  the  money.  "I  give  you  the  whole  of  it  this 
week." 

"  This  may  keep  off  the  wolf  for  a  week  or  two," 
sighed  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  I  shall  get  into  another  place  soon,  mother ;  don't 
worry  about  it." 

"But  why  didn't  you  take  the  place  when  he  of 
fered  it  to  you  at  double  wages,  Fitz?  It  seems  to 
me  you  are  crazy." 

"  No,  I  am  not  crazy.  I  know  what  I  am  about, 
and  Checkynshaw  knows  what  he  is  about.  What 
do  you  suppose  induced  him  to  double  my  salary 
so  readily?" 

"  Because  he  saw  how  poor  we  were." 

"  What  does  he  care  for  that  ?  There  is  no  more 
soul  in  him  than  there  is  in  a  brickbat,  mother.  It 
wouldn't  trouble  him  if  you  starved  to  death  — 
though  you  are  his  first  wife's  sister.  That  wasn't 
the  reason." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  155 

"  What  was  the  reason,  then,  Fitz  ? "  asked  she, 
curiously. 

"  Checkynshaw  is  afraid  of  me,"  replied  Fitz,  stop 
ping  in  his  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  and  looking 
into  his  mother's  face  to  note  the  effect  of  this  star 
tling  announcement. 

"  Afraid  of  you,  Fitz  !  You  are  losing  your 
senses !  "  exclaimed  she,  with  an  expression  of  strong 
disgust. 

"It's  just  as  I  say,  mother.     He's  afraid  of  me." 

"  Why  should  he  be  afraid  of  you  ?  You  are  not 
so  very  terrible  as  to  alarm  a  man  in  his  position." 

"  Mother,  that  block  of  stores  ought  to  be  yours. 
You  should  have  had  the  income  of  it  ever  since 
Checkynshaw  came  from  France  with  his  wife.  I 
tell  you  that  child  died  of  the  cholera,  when  Mrs. 
Checkynshaw  had  it.  That  is  just  as  plain  to  me  as 
the  nose  on  a  man's  face." 

"  Nonsense,  Fitz  !  Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Checkyn 
shaw  would  keep  me  out  of  it  if  it  belonged  to 
me?" 

"  I  know  he  would.  I  know  the  man.  I  haven't 
been  in  his  office  two  years  for  nothing.  I  keep  my 


156  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

eyes  open  —  I  do,"  answered  Fitz,  holding  up  hU 
head  till  his  neck  was  stretched  to  its  full  length. 
"  Checkynshaw  may  be  an  honest  man,  as  things  go; 
but  you  can't  make  me  believe  he  would  give  up 
that  block  of  stores  while  he  could  hold  on  to  it  by 
hook  or  by  crook.  He  wants  me  under  his  thumb, 
where  he  can  know  what  I'm  about.  He  has  lost 
his  papers,  and  he  feels  nervous  about  them.  In  my 
opinion,  there's  something  or  other  among  those  docu 
ments  which  would  let  the  light  in  upon  that  block 
of  stores.  That's  why  he  is  so  anxious  to  find  out 
where  they  are.  That's  why  he  don't  care  for  the 
money  that  was  stolen.  He  knows  what  he  is  about, 
and  I  know  what  I'm  about." 

"  What  is  the  use  for  us  to  think  anything  about 
the  block  of  stores?  You  don't  know  that  little 
Marguerite  died,"  added  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  interested, 
in  spite  of  herself,  in  the  extravagant  pretensions  of 
her  son. 

"  I  don't  know  it,  I  admit ;  but  I  think  we  ought 
to  find  out.  Checkynshaw  says  the  child  is  still  liv 
ing  with  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  somewhere  in  France. 
We  have  nothing  but  his  word  for  it." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  157 

"  That's  enough.  He  says  the  child  is  living,  and 
he  don't  like  to  have  her  ill-treated  by  her  mother- 
in-law.  She  is  happy  at  the  boarding  school,  and 
when  her  education  is  finished,  doubtless  she  will 
come  home." 

"  That's  all  bosh  !  Did  any  one  ever  see  a  letter 
from  her?  Did  Checkynshaw  ever  write  a  letter  to 
her?  Does  he  ever  send  her  any  money?" 

"But  he  goes  to  see  her  every  year  or  two,  when 
he  visits  Europe." 

"  Perhaps  he  does,  and  then  perhaps  he  don't. 
Did  any  one  else  ever  see  the  child  ?  Has  any  one 
any  knowledge  of  her  existence  except  through 
Checkynshaw  ?  I  think  not.  Don't  tell  me,  mother, 
that  a  man  would  leave  his  daughter  in  a  foreign 
country  for  ten  years,  and  only  go  to  see  her  every 
year  or  two.  In  my  opinion,  —  and  I  think  my 
opinion  is  worth  something,  —  the  child  died  in  the 
hospital.  Checkynshaw  keeps  up  this  fiction  because 
it  puts  five  or  six  thousand  dollars  a  year  into  his 
pocket.  No  one  has  ever  claimed  the  block  of 
stores,  and  of  course  he  will  hold  on  to  it  till  some 
one  does." 


158  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  could  not  help  thinking,  while 
starvation  or  the  almshouse  stared  her  full  in  the 
face,  what  a  blessing  that  block  of  stores  would  be 
to  her.  If  her  sister's  child  was  dead,  it  rightfully 
belonged  to  her.  It  was  certainly  proper  for  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  to  prove  that  Marguerite  was  still  liv 
ing,  or  at  least  to  satisfy  her  privately  on  the  point. 

"What  can  we  do,  Fitz?"  she  asked. 

"  What  can  we  do,  mother  ?  That's  the  ques 
tion.  When  I  was  in  Summer  Street,  this  evening, 
I  thought  I  would  call  upon  my  friend  Choate. 
Choate  is  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar  —  he  is." 

"Pshaw,  Fitz !  "  ejaculated  the  poor  woman.  "  Why 
will  you  talk  about  your  friend  Choate  ?  He  is  not 
your  friend.  He  would  not  touch  you  with  a  ten- 
foot  pole.  He  looks  down  upon  you  from  an  infinite 
height." 

"Not  he.      Choate  always  treats  everybody  like  «• 
gentleman.     He  always  treated  me  like  a  gentleman 
I  believe  in  Choate  —  I  do." 

"It  is  ridiculous  for  you  to  talk  about  his  being 
your  friend." 

"  He  is  my  friend  in  very  deed.     I  called  upon  him 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  159 

at  his  residence,  in  Winthrop  Place,  this  evening. 
He  treated  me  like  a  gentleman.  He  was  glad  to 
see  me.  He  shook  hands  with  me,  and  welcomed 
me  to  his  house,  as  though  I  had  been  the  governoi 
of  the  state.  Everett  was  there,  and  Winthrop  came 
in  before  I  left.  I  heard  them  speak  of  Webster, 
and  I  suppose  he  was  expected.  I  was  introduced 
to  Everett  and  Winthrop." 

"  You  ! "  exclaimed  his  mother. 

"I,  mother!" 

"  Poor  child,  they  were  making  fun  of  you !  " 
sighed  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  Not  they.  Everett  bowed  to  me  as  gracefully 
as  though  I  had  been  the  President.  Winthrop 
was  a  little  stiff;  but  what  did  I  care  for  him,  as 
long  as  Choate  and  Everett  were  on  good  terms 
with  me  ?  " 

"Your  head  is  turned,  Fitz." 

"  No  matter  if  it  is,  so  long  as  it  is  turned  in 
the  right  direction.  Choate  told  Everett  and  Win 
throp  that  I  had  formerly  occupied  a  place  in  his 
office,  and  that  he  had  a  high  regard  for  me.  He 
smiled  pleasantly,  and  so  did  Everett.  Winthrop 


160  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

didn't  take  much  notice  of  me.  Choate  asked  me 
if  I  wanted  to  see  him  for  anything  particular.  I  told 
him  I  did ;  I  wanted  a  little  legal  advice  in  the  mat 
ter  of  Wittleworth  vs.  Checkynshaw.  He  smiled 
very  kindly  upon  me ;  he  smiled  as  only  Choate  can 
smile." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Wit 
tleworth,  impatiently. 

"  He  apologized  for  his  inability  to  attend  to  the 
case  at  that  time,  as  he  was  engaged  upon  a  matter 
of  politics  with  Everett  and  Winthrop ;  but  he  hoped 
he  should  find  time  to  see  me  in  the  course  of  a 
week.  Of  course  I  didn't  care  about  breaking  up 
his  conference  with  Everett  and  Winthrop ;  so  I 
apologized  for  the  interruption,  and  promised  him  I 
would  call  upon  him  at  his  office  the  next  day." 

"  I  suppose  he  was  very  sorry  he  could  not  attend 
to  the  case,"  added  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"He  appeared  to  be.  He  expressed  his  regrets; 
and,  as  he  was  attending  to  the  affairs  of  the  nation, 
J  could  not  be  hard  on  him,  you  know." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  his  mother,  amused  in  spite 
of  the  weakness  of  her  son. 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  161 

"  Choate  is  a  good  fellow  —  Choate  is,"  added 
Fitz,  rubbing  his  chin,  and  puffing  out  his  lips. 
"  When  he  gets  hold  of  this  case,  he  will  make 
things  fly,  mother." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Fitz  ?  "  asked  Mrs 
Wittleworth,  seriously. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  mince  the  matter  any  longer 
I  am  going  to  bring  a  suit  against  Checkynshaw  for 
the  block  of  stores,  and  the  income  received  from  them 
for  the  last  ten  years,"  replied  Fitz,  magnificently. 

"You  are!" 

"  I  am ;  that  is,  when  I  say  I  am,  of  course  I  am 
going  to  do  it  in  your  name,  for  I  am  the  next  heir 
to  you.  That  will  bring  things  to  a  head,  and  we 
shall  soon  find  out  whether  Checkynshaw  is  ready 
to  stand  trial  or  not." 

"We  have  no  money  to  go  to  law  with,"  pleaded 
the  poor  woman. 

"  We  don't  want  any,  mother.  I  have  looked  into 
this  business,  and  what  I  don't  know  about  it  isn't 
-worth  knowing.  I  know  something  about  law,  for  I 
used  to  keep  my  eyes  aud  ears  open  when  I  was  in 
the  law  business." 


162  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OB 

Mr.  Wittleworth  had  been  an  errand  boy  in  Mr. 
Choate's  office ! 

"I. don't  think  you  can  go  to  law  without  money, 
Fitz.  I  have  always  heard  it  was  very  expensive," 
added  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"All  we  want,  mother,  is  a  copy  of  my  grand 
father's  will.  We  attach  the  block  of  stores,  if 
necessary.  Under  the  will  it  belongs  to  you,  unless 
Checkynshaw  can  produce  your  sister's  child." 

"Suppose  he  should  produce  her?" 

"  That's  the  very  thing  he  can't  do.  If  he  does, 
of  course  our  case  falls  to  the  ground ;  but  he  can't." 

"But  if  he  does  produce  the  child,  where  is  the 
money  to  pay  the  expenses  ?  " 

"The  expenses  won't  be  much.  I  shall  say  to 
Choate,  *  Choate,'  says  I,  '  here's  a  piece  of  property 
which  belongs  to  my  mother.  You  can  go  up  to  the 
Registry  of  Probate,  and  read  the  will  yourself. 
Give  my  mother  legal  possession  of  it,  and  I  will 
pay  you  five  or  ten  thousand  dollars '  —  I  haven't 
just  decided  exactly  what  to  offer  him.  He  takes 
the  case,  brings  the  suit,  and  gets  the  property  for 
you." 


THE    KICH    MAX'S    DAUGHTER.  163 

"  Suppose  he  doesn't  get  it  ?  " 

"  Then  he  will  get  nothing.  When  I  was  in  the 
Jaw  business,  cases  were  sometimes  taken  in  this  way." 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  was  encouraged  by  this  hopeful 
statement,  and  disposed  to  let  Fitz  have  his  own 
way.  Abject  poverty  was  so  terrible  that  she  could 
not  afford  to  lose  such  a  chance.  Mr.  Checkynshaw's 
conduct  in  leaving  his  child  in  France,  among  stran 
gers,  for  ten  years,  was  singular  enough  to  beget 
suspicion. 

The  conversation  was  continued  till  tke  fire  went 
out,  and  the  chill  air  of  the  room  drove  the  in 
tended  litigants  to  their  chambers.  Fitz  did  not 
come  down  till  breakfast  time  the  next  morning.  He 
lay  in  his  warm  bed,  building  castles  in  the  air,  and 
thinking  what  a  great  man  he  should  be  when  the 
block  of  stores  and  its  revenues  were  reclaimed  from 
the  grasp  of  Mr.  Checkynshaw.  He  thought  it  quit* 
possible  that  he  could  then  go  into  a  barber's  sho| 
and  be  shaved  without  any  one  having  the  impudeno 
to  laugh  at  him. 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  had  thought  a  great  deal  akout 
the  property,  but  she  could  not  quite  maL.<3  up  her 


164  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

mind  to  take  such  decided  steps  as  those  indicated 
by  her  son.  If  the  attempt  was  made,  and  proved  to 
be  a  failure,  Mr.  Checkynshaw  would  never  forgive 
her,  and  might  injure  her  in  revenge.  When  she 
came  down  stairs,  she  had  decided  to  call  upon  the 
banker,  and  state  the  case  to  him.  If  he  chose  to 
satisfy  her  that  Marguerite  was  still  living,  it  would 
save  trouble  and  future  disappointment. 

"  You  can  see  him.  if  you  like,  mother.  I  have 
no  doubt  he  will  smooth  you  over.  Checkynshaw 
is  a  plausible  man  —  Checkynshaw  is.  He  carries 
too  many  guns  for  a  woman.  I  would  call  myself 
if  it  were  not  for  letting  myself  down  to  his  level," 
said  Mr.  Wittleworth,  stroking  his  chin,  when  his 
mother  was  ready  to  go. 

"  Don't  be  so  silly,  Fitz ! " 

"  Checkynshaw  won't  stand  trial,  in  my  opinion. 
He  is  shrewd  —  he  is." 

"  I  only  intend  to  ask  him  what  he  means  to 
do,"  added  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  He  means  to  hold  on  to  the  property  —  that's 
what  he  means  to  do,  mother.  He  may  try  to  buy 
you  off —  don't  do  it,  on  any  account.  Leave  this 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  165 

matter  all  to  me.  Me  and  Choate  will  fix  it  right. 
Now,  be  careful  what  you  do." 

"I  will  not  do  anything,"  said  his  mother,  as  she 
put  on  her  bonnet. 

"  I  will  see  Choate  to-day.  Me  and  Choate  will 
touch  off  a  volcano  under  Checkynshaw's  feet  in 
the  course  of  a  week  or  two,"  he  added,  as  his 
mother  left  the  house. 


166  MAKE    OB   BREAK,   OR 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ME.    CHECKYNSHAW    IS    LIBERAL. 

MRS  WITTLEWORTH  went  directly  to  the 
door  of  the  private  office.  She  had  her  doubts 
in  regard  to  the  interview  which  was  to  take  place. 
Mr.  Checkynshaw  had  never  treated  her  very  hand 
somely.  She  had  called  upon  him  only  once  since 
the  downfall  of  her  husband.  The  banker  had  lis 
tened  very  coldly  to  her  story  of  hardship  and  suffer 
ing.  He  had  taken  Fitz  into  his  employ  at  that  time ; 
but  her  reception  was  so  cold,  and  the  great  man's 
manner  so  forbidding,  that  she  had  resolved  that 
nothing  but  imminent  starvation  should  induce  her 
to  repeat  the  visit. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  a  hard,  selfish,  money-getting 
man.  He  was  not  one  whom  a  poor  relative  would 
willingly  approach  with  a  tale  of  suffering.  Though 
this  was  not  Mrs.  Wittleworth's  present  errand,  she 
dreaded  the  result  almost  as  much  as  though  she  had 


THE    KICK    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  167 

been  an  applicant  for  charity.  The  banker  was  over 
bearing  and  haughty  in  his  way.  He  bullied  his  social 
inferiors,  and  looked  upon  them  from  a  height  which 
was  appalling  to  them.  She  opened  the  door  and 
entered.  The  banker  was  alone,  sitting  in  the  stuffed 
arm-chair  at  his  desk. 

"Ellen?"  said  he,  glancing  at  her  with  an  inquiring 
look,  probably  satisfied  that  she  had  come  to  plead  for 
the  return  of  her  son^to  the  place  from  which  he  had 
been  discharged. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  human  impudence 
could  extend  so  far  as  to  permit  such  people  to  bring 
a  suit  against  him  for  their  rights,  however  well  de 
fined  or  clearly  established.  If  he  owed  them  any 
thing,  or  they  had  any  claims  against  him,  it  was 
their  duty  to  be  solemnly  impressed  by  the  loftiness 
of  his  social  position,  and  humbly  to  beg  for  what 
belonged  to  them. 

"  I  thought  I  would  come  up  and  see  you  this  morn 
ing,  Mr.  Checkynshaw,"  stammered  the  poor  woman ; 
and  poverty  had  so  subdued  her,  and  so  broken  her 
spirit,  that  she  hardly  knew  how  to  introduce  the 
subject  upon  her  mind. 


168  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"If  you  come  to  ask  me  to  take  Fitz  back,  it  will 
do  no  good.  You  permit  the  puppy  to  insult  me," 
replied  the  banker,  in  the  most  forbidding  tones. 

"I  don't  permit  him  to  insult  you.  I  did  what  I 
could  to  make  him  speak  properly  to  you,"  replied 
Mrs.  Wittleworth,  meekly. 

"It's  all  the  same;  it  was  bad  bringing  up.-  I  can't 
have  him  in  my  office  again,"  added  Mr.  Checkynshaw, 
though  at  that  moment,  for  some  reason  best  known 
to  himself,  he  would  have  been  very  glad  to  forgive 
the  young  man's  insolence,  and  take  him  back  at 
double  salary.  "That  boy  has  outraged  my  good 
nature.  When  I  saw  how  hard  the  times  were  with 
you,  I  was  willing  to  give  him  double  wages ;  but  the 
ingrate  only  insulted  me  for  it." 

"He  is  very  wilful;  I  wish  he  was  not  so  head 
strong." 

"I  can't  take  him  back  now;  at  least  not  till  he 
has  apologized  for  his  impudence,  and  promised  bet 
ter  things  for  the  future,"  continued  the  banker, 
shaking  his  head,  as  though  his  mind  was  firmly 
made  up  for  the  issue. 

"I  did  not  come  to  ask  you  to  take  him  back," 
added  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  169 

«O,  you  didn't!" 

"No,  sir;   he  is  not  yet  willing  to  come." 

"What  did  you  come  for  —  to  beg?" 

"  I  don't  come  to  you  to  beg,"  replied  shej  with  a 
little  display  of  spirit. 

"What  do  you  want,  then?" 

"You  mustn't  be  angry  with  me,  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw." 

"I'm  not  angry  with  you.  If  you  have  anything 
to  say,  say  it.  I  hate  long  stories,"  said  the  banker, 
impatiently. 

"  Fitz  has  taken  it  into  his  head  that  the  block  of 
stores  which  my  father  gave  to  Mary  belongs  to  us," 
continued  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  looking  down  to  the 
floor,  as  if  fearful  that  the  great  man's  glance  would 
blast  her  if  she  beheld  it. 

"Has  he,  indeed?" 

If  Mrs.  Wittleworth  had  looked  at  the  banker  in 
stead  of  the  floor,  she  might  have  seen  that  his  face 
flushed  slightly ;  that  his  lip  quivered,  and  his  chest 
heaved ;  but,  as  she  did  not  look  at  him,  the  banker 
had  time  to  suppress  these  tell-tale  emotions. 

"He  thinks  so;    and  he  seems  to  be   determined 


170  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

that  something  shall  be  done  about  it,"  added  the 
poor  woman,  still  gazing  intently  at  the  floor. 

"  And  you  encourage  such  ridiculous  notions  —  do 
you,  Ellen  ? "  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  severely. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  encourage  them.  I  can't 
help  his  thoughts." 

"Probably  you  don't  wish  to  help  them.  Well, 
you  can  do  as  you  please  about  it.  If  you  choose 
to  get  him  and  yourself  into  difficulty,  I  suppose 
nothing  I  can  say  will  have  any  influence  with  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  into  trouble,  or  to  spend  any 
money  in  going  to  law." 

"  I  should  judge,  from  the  appearance  of  your  house, 
that  you  hadn't  much  to  spend  in  that  way,"  sneered 
the  banker. 

"I  have  not,  indeed.  I  said  all  I  could  to  dis 
suade  Fitz  from  doing  anything  about  the  matter; 
but  he  is  bent  upon  it.  He  has  been  to  see  Mr. 
Choate  about  it." 

"To  see  Mr.  Choate!"  exclaimed  the  banker,  spring 
ing  out  of  his  chair;  and  now  his  face  was  deadly  pale. 

But  in  an  instant  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  conscious 
that  he  was  revealing  the  weakness  of  his  position, 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  171 

and  he  sat  down  in  his  chair  again,  with  a  placid 
smile  upon  his  face. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  Fitz  and  you  intend  to 
fight  me  in  the  law  upon  this  matter?"  demanded  he, 
with  a  sardonic  grin  on  his  face,  indicating  both  fear 
and  malice. 

"  Fitz  says  there  will  be  no  fighting  about  it.  We 
are  to  bring  a  suit  to  recover  the  property,  according 
to  the  terms  of  my  father's  will,  with  the  income  for 
ten  years." 

"Fitz  says  so  —  does  he?" 

"  He  thinks  Marguerite  died  when  your  present 
wife  had  the  cholera.  He  says  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  produce  the  child.  If  you  do,  that  will  be 
the  end  of  it;  if  not,  the  property  certainly  belongs 
to  us." 

"  What  makes  Fitz  think  that  Marguerite  is  not 
living?"  asked  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  more  mildly  than 
he  had  yet  spoken. 

"  Well,  he  has  his  reasons,"  replied  she,  not  quite 
certain  that  she  might  not  say  something  which  would 
compromise  her  son. 

"What  are  his  reasons  1n 


172  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  necessary  to  mention 
them.  I  think  myself  it  is  very  strange  that  you 
haven't  brought  her  home.  She  must  be  fifteen  years 
old  by  this  time." 

"That  is  her  age." 

"I  don't  want  any  trouble  about  this  business,  Mr. 
Checkynshaw ;  so  I  thought  I  would  come  up  and  see 
you.  Perhaps  you  can  show  me  some  letters  from 
Marguerite,  or  something  else  that  will  convince  Fitz 
that  she  is  alive." 

"I  have  no  letters  here." 

"  Have  you  any  at  your  house  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wittle- 
worth. 

"Not  that  I  am  aware  of.  I  never  preserve  any 
but  business  letters.  If  I  understand  you,  Ellen, 
Fitz's  modest  claim  is  for  the  block  of  stores  and 
the  income  of  them  for  the  last  ten  years." 

"That's  what  he  said." 

"  Are  you  aware  of  the  amount  of  this  claim  ? " 
asked  the  banker,  nervously. 

"I  don't  know,  exactly." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  pausing 
to  reflect.  "  I  don't  wish  to  bring  Marguerite  home 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  173 

till  her  education  is  completed,  and  this  thing  may 
cause  me  some  annoyance." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  annoy  you,"  pleaded  Mrs. 
Wittleworth. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not;  but  Fitz  does.  If  you  re 
fuse  to  be  a  party  to  this  suit,  of  course  he  can  do 
nothing.  He  has  no  rights  yet  in  the  premises  him 
self,  and  he  is  under  age." 

"I  think  myself  the  matter  ought  to  be  settled  up 
somehow  or  other,"  replied  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  timidly. 
"  I  am  so  poor  I  can  hardly  keep  soul  and  body  to 
gether,  and  Fitz  has  lost  his  place." 

"I  will  give  him  his  place,  at  ten  dollars  a  week. 
I  will  see  that  you  have  a  good  house,  properly  fur 
nished,  and  a  sufficient  income  to  live  on.  If  I  had 
known  that  you  were  so  badly  off,  I  should  have  done 
something  for  you  before.  Why  didn't  you  come  to 
me?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  ask  favors ;  besides,  we  have  been 
able  to  get  along  till  times  came  on  so  hard  this 
winter  that  I  couldn't  get  any  work." 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  bothered  with  this  thing,  and 
be  compelled  to  go  to  France  in  the  middle  of  the 


174  ,     MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OR 

winter  after  Marguerite.  Fitz  saw  that  he  could 
annoy  me,  and  he  has  taken  this  means  to  vent  hia 
spite  upon  me.  But  the  suit  depends  upon  you.  He 
can  do  nothing  without  you.  Mr.  Choate  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  doesn't  take  cases  of  this 
kind ;  but  Fitz  can  find  some  unprincipled  lawyer 
who  will  undertake  the  case,  and  compel  me  to  de 
range  my  plans." 

"  Could  you  show  me  some  letters  from  Marguerite, 
or  some  bill  you  have  paid  for  her  board  or  tuition  ?  " 

"Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  find  something  of  the 
kind  at  my  house.  I'll  see.  But  I  think  we  had 
better  settle  up  this  business  between  ourselves,  with 
out  Fitz." 

Mr.  Cheeky nshaw  looked  troubled,  and  Mrs.  Wittle- 
worth  could  see  it  now. 

"How  can  we  settle  it,  if  you  have  nothing  to  show 
me  to  prove  that  Marguerite  is  living  ? "  asked  the 
poor  woman. 

"Marguerite  is  living,  or  was  eighteen  months  ago, 
when  I  was  in  France." 

"Haven't  you  heard  from  her  for  eighteen  months?" 

"Of  course  I  have;    but  that  is  neither  here  noi 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  175 

there.  I  don't  wish  to  be  annoyed  in  this  way,  or 
to  have  your  son  boasting  that  he  has  a  claim  on 
me.  I  don't  choose  to  submit  to  that  sort  of  thing 
any  longer.  Neither  is  it  my  intention  to  bring  Mar 
guerite  home  till  she  is  eighteen  years  old.  She  ia 
very  much  attached  to  the  institution  in  which  she 
spent  her  childhood." 

"I  should  think  you  would  wish  to  see  her  oftenei 
than  once  in  two  years,"  added  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  the 
remark  prompted  by  her  woman's  heart. 

"So  I  would.  But  you  know  just  how  it  is.  1 
can't  bring  her  home  without  having  trouble  in  my 
family;  and  she  is  perfectly  happy  where  she  is.  I 
ought  to  have  done  more  for  you,  Ellen,  than  I  have ; 
but  I  didn't  know  the  world  went  so  hard  with  you. 
I  blame  myself  for  not  thinking  more  about  it;  but 
I  am  plunged  in  business,  so  that  I  hardly  have 
time  to  think  of  my  own  family.  I  don't  see  how  I 
can  do  it  in  any  other  way  than  by  settling  a  fixed 
sum  upon  you  at  once.  Then  I  can  do  all  that  I 
have  to  do  at  one  time,  and  you  will  not  have  to 
depend  upon  my  bad  memory." 

"I'm  sure  I've  no  claims   on   you   of  that  kind," 


176  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

replied  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  amazed  at  this  outburst  of 
generosity. 

"I  know  you  have  no  legal  claims  upon  me;  but 
you  are  the  sister  of  my  first  wife.  I  have  not  for 
gotten  her  yet,  and  I  never  shall,"  continued  Mr. 

Checkynshaw,  with  a  gush  of  sentiment  such  as  the 

• 
poor  woman  had  never  before  seen  proceed  from  him. 

"  Property  from  your  father's  estate  came  into  my 
family,  and  it  would  not  be  right  for  me  to  permit 
you  to  want  for  the  comforts  of  life,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  necessities.  I'm  going  to  do  something  for 
you  here  and  now  —  something  so  that  you  shall  not 
be  dependent  upon  Fitz,  whether  I  forget  you  for 
the  time  or  not.  Do  you  think  you  could  live  on 
the  income  of  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year?  That 
would  be  six  hundred  dollars,  or  about  twelve  dol 
lars  a  week." 

"That  is  more  than  I  have  had  for  years,"  gasped 
Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  give  you  a  check  for  that  sum ; 
or  I  will  invest  it  for  you  in  the  best  paying  stocks  I 
can  find." 

"You  are  too  good!     I  did  not  expect  this!"  ex- 


THE    EICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  177 

claimed  the  poor  woman,  wiping  the  tears  from  her 
eyes. 

"  I  shall  do  no  more  than  my  duty  —  what  I  ought 
to  have  done  before,"  replied  the  banker,  magnani 
mously.  "And,  by  the  way,  it  would  be  as  well  for 
you  to  sign  a  paper,  so  as  to  set  this  business  at  rest, 
and  prevent  Fitz  from  annoying  me,"  said  the  banker, 
as  he  took  down  his  check-book,  and  shuffled  the 
papers  about  the  desk  with  assumed  indifference. 

"  What  paper  am  I  to  sign  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Wittle- 
worth,  beginning  to  open  her  eyes. 

"  I  mean  a  quitclaim  deed  on  the  block  of  stores ; 
but  of  course  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  ten 
thousand  dollars  I  am  to  pay  you." 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  knew  what  a  quitclaim  deed  was. 
It  was  a  deed  by  which  she  relinquished  all  her  right, 
title,  and  interest  in  the  block  of  stores. 

"I  think  I  will  not  sign  it  to-day,  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw,"  said  she,  rather  fearfully. 

The  banker  urged  her  in  vain.  Fitz  had  warned 
her  against  such  a  step,  and  she  had  more  confi 
dence  in  Fitz's  judgment  at  that  moment  than  ever 
before. 

12 


178 


MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 


"Very  well;  I  will  have  the  deed  drawn,  and  fill 
out  the  check  ready  for  you  the  next  time  you  call," 
added  the  banker,  more  disappointed  than  his  manner 
indicated. 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  went  home. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  179 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    SUCCESS   IN   THE    MOUSE    BUSINESS. 

"  ~"TV~TOW,   Tom,   if  you    will   draw  the   wagon,   I 

1  T|  will  steady  the  house,  and  see  that  the  mice 
don't  get  out  and  run  away,"  said  Leo,  when  he  had 
drawn  the  chariot  of  the  beauties  a  short  distance. 

"  Small  loss  if  they  do,"  replied  Tom  Casey,  who 
had  already  made  up  his  mind  that  they  were  going 
on  a  fool's  errand. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  Tom.  These  mice  are  worth 
fifty  cents  a  pair,"  added  Leo,  as  he  placed  himself 
by  the  house,  and  his  companion  took  the  pole  of 
the  wagon. 

"  Fifty  cints  —  is  it  ?  Sure  who'd  give  fifty  cints 
for  those  bits  o'  crayturs  ?  I  wouldn't  give  fifty  cints 
for  a  tousand  of  'em,  let  alone  a  pair  of  'em." 

"  When  I  come  back  with  five  or  six  dollars  in 
my  pocket,  which  I  shall  get  for  this  establishment, 
you  will  change  your  tune,  Tom." 


180  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OB 

"Well,  the  house  is  forst  rate,  and  you  may  get 
five  dollars  for  that.  Sure  I  think  it's  worth  it  ; 
but  I  wouldn't  give  two  cints  for  all  the  mice  that's 
in  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  wouldn't,  Tom.  You  haven't  any 
taste  for  white  mice." 

"Taste  —  is  it?     Sure,  would  anyone  ate  'em?" 

Tom  Casey  was  a  recent  importation  from  the 
Green  Isle,  and  the  emerald  dust  had  not  been 
rubbed  off  him  by  the  civilizing  and  humanizing  in 
fluence  of  the  public  schools ;  but  he  brought  with 
him  from  Ireland  a  big  heart,  which  was  worth 
more  than  polish  and  refinement,  though  both  go 
very  well  together.  In  spite  of  the  grave  responsi 
bility  which  rested  upon  him,  Leo  laughed  heartily 
at  the  blunder,  and  took  the  trouble  to  explain  the 
meaning  of  taste  in  its  artistic  sense. 

The  procession  —  for  the  crowd  of  boys  and  girls 
was  augmented  continually  when  the  mouse-car 
reached  High  Street  —  advanced  towards  its  desti 
nation,  and  Leo  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  the 
youngsters  from  crowding  upon  and  upsetting  the 
wagon,  in  their  eagerness  to  see  the  mice  and  their 
magnificent  dwelling-house. 


THE    KICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  181 

"  Just  tAvig  'em,  Jimmy  !  "  shouted  one  who  had 
tipped  over  half  a  dozen  of  his  companions  in  his 
enthusiasm.  "  Their  tails  is  as  long  as  Seven's 
rope." 

"  Hotel  dees  mice,"  said  another,  spelling  out  the 
sign  over  the  grand  parade.  "What  does  that 
mean,  Billy?" 

"  They're  going  to  take  'em  to  a  hotel  to  make 
soup  of.  I  guess  there's  some  Chinamen  at  the 
Tremont.  They  say  them  coveys  eats  rats.  Twig 
the  red  eyes  they  has ! " 

Leo  kept  the  youngsters  at  bay  as  well  as  he 
could,  and  hurried  Tom  along,  till  they  reached 
State  Street,  where  he  took  a  stand  in  front  of  the 
Exchange.  A  crowd  of  curious  merchants,  clerks, 
and  curb-stone  brokers  immediately  gathered  around 
the  palace  to  examine  the  structure  and  its  inhab 
itants.  It  was  a  novel  establishment,  and  excited 
no  little  attention. 

"What  have  you  there,  my  boy?"  asked  a  well- 
dressed  gentleman,  working  his  way  into  the  inte 
rior  of  the  ring. 

"  White  mice,  sir,"  replied  Leo. 


182  MAKE    OB   BREAK,    OR 

"  They  are  cunning  little  creatures,"  added  the 
gentleman,  bending  down  and  looking  into  the  grand 
parade,  where  the  mice  were  now  feeding  on  canary 
seed. 

They  had  become  somewhat  accustomed  to  the 
crowd,  and,  as  if  conscious  that  they  were  for  sale, 
put  the  best  foot  forward. 

"  What's  the  price  of  them  ?  "  asked  the  gentle 
man. 

"  Six  dollars  for  the  mice  and  house,"  replied  Leo ; 
but  the  words  almost  choked  him. 

"  Six  dollars ! "  exclaimed  the  questioner,  edging 
off.  "  That's  a  very  modest  price,  young  man." 

"The  mice  bring  fifty  cents  a  pair,  and  there's  a 
great  deal  of  work  in  the  house,  besides  the  stock." 

"  But  you  don't  expect  any  one  to  give  you  six 
dollars  for  a  trap  like  that,  with  half  a  dozen  rats 
in  it  —  do  you  ?  " 

"I  think  it  is  worth  that,  sir.  Do  you  wish  to 
buy  it?" 

"  I  thought  it  would  amuse  my  children  ;  but  I 
can't  think  of  giving  anything  like  six  dollars  for 
it,"  added  the  gentleman,  shaking  his  head. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  183 

"  What  would  you  be  willing  to  give  for  it  ? " 

"  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  for  it." 

"  No,  sir,  I  couldn't  think  of  selling  it  at  any  such 
price  as  that.  I  would  give  it  away  before  I  would 
sell  it  for  that,"  replied  Leo,  indignant  at  having  his 
work  so  grossly  undervalued. 

"  I  will  give  you  two  dollars  for  it.  I  have  a  lit 
tle  lame  boy  at  home,  who  can't  go  out,  and  I  am 
willing  to  give  two  for  it." 

"  I  will  not  sell  it  for  less  than  five  dollars,  sir." 

"  Why,  that's  a  rascally  price  !  "  exclaimed  the 
proposed  purchaser.  "  Five  dollars  for  a  mere  rat- 
trap  ! " 

"  That's  my  lowest  price,  sir.  If  you  don't  want 
it,  the  law  don't  compel  you  to  take  it,"  added  Leo, 
vexed  to  have  the  person  run  down  his  handiwork. 

The  gentleman  backed  out  of  the  crowd,  and  dis 
appeared.  Leo  thought  he  could  not  care  much 
for  his  little  lame  boy,  if  he  was  not  willing  to  pay 
five  dollars  for  such  an  elegant  establishment  as  the 
"Hotel  des  Mice"  which  could  not  help  being  a 
very  great  pleasure  to  the  invalid.  Half  a  dozen 
others  looked  into  the  palace,  asked  questions  about 


184  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

the  habits  of  the  mice,  and  inquired  the  price  of  ihe 
house  and  its  inmates.  Leo  answered  them  all  very 
politely ;  but  they  laughed  and  sneered  when  he 
mentioned  the  six  dollars. 

The  "  mouse  business "  did  not  seem  so  prosperous 
as  Leo  had  anticipated.  He  had  been  confident  that 
a  dozen  persons  would  want  the  elegant  establish 
ment,  and  he  was  not  quite  sure  there  would  not  be 
a  quarrel  among  them  for  the  possession  of  it  at  the 
price  he  named.  He  could  not  see  why  these  rich 
merchants  and  bankers  should  haggle  at  six  dollars 
if  they  had  any  children  at  home.  His  heart  began 
to  feel  heavy  in  his  bosom,  for  he  had  expected  to 
«,ell  his  present  stock  of  merchandise  as  soon  as  he 
named  the  price,  and  to  find  half  a  dozen  more  who 
*vould  want  them  badly  enough  to  give  him  ad- 
*ance  orders. 

There  appeared  to  be  a  discount  on  the  mouse 
business.  The  gentlemen  in  State  Street  were  sin 
gularly  cold  and  wanting  in  enthusiasm  on  the  sub 
ject  of  white  mice.  It  began  to  look  like  a  failure, 
and  Tom  Casey  seemed  to  be  a  true  prophet.  What 
an  inglorious  termination  to  his  career  as  a  mouse 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  185 

merchant  it  would  be  to  drag  the  palace  back  to 
No.  3  Phillimore  Court,  and  tell  Maggie  that  no 
one  would  buy  it,  even  at  the  moderate  price  of 
five  dollars ! 

But  Leo  soon  realized  that  he  was  becoming 
chicken-hearted  ;  that  he  was  almost  in  despair  even 
before  he  had  been  half  an  hour  in  the  field.  This 
was  not  his  usual  style,  and  he  was  ashamed  of  it, 
as  he  considered  his  weakness. 

"  Make  or  break  !  "  exclaimed  he,  slapping  hia 
hand  upon  his  chest,  and  throwing  his  shoulders 
back,  as  if  to  stiffen  his  frame.  "  I'll  stick  to  it  till 
something  breaks.  This  is  a  new  business,  and  I 
must  make  the  trade." 

The  effect  of  this  slapping  of  the  chest  and  this 
stiffening  of  the  frame  was  immediately  apparent  in 
his  demeanor,  for  they  were  the  visible  manifesta 
tions  of  a  firm  will.  He  was  more  cheerful,  an 
swered  inquiries  more  briskly,  and  was  less  affected 
by  adverse  criticism  of  his  handicraft.  Men  asked 
the  price,  sneered,  and  turned  away.  There  were 
plenty  to  admire  his  workmanship,  but  as  yet  none 
to  buy.  While  Leo  was  thus  struggling  against  tho 


186  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

tide  of  fortune,  the  crowd  opened,  and  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw  appeared  within  the  ring.  He  was  a  great 
man,  and  he  showed  it  in  his  manner  —  perhaps 
more  in  his  manner  than  in  any  other  way. 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  had  taken  leave  of  the  banker 
an  hour  before,  and  since  that  time  he  had  been 
alone  in  his  private  office,  only  occasionally  inter 
rupted  by  a  business  call.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was 
troubled.  Fitz  was  a  thorn  in  his  flesh  and  a  stum 
bling-block  in  his  path.  Doubtless  it  was  very  an 
noying  for  the  father  of  Marguerite  to  break  up  the 
educational  and  social  relations  she  had  sustained 
from  early  childhood.  Doubtless  it  was  very  wicked 
of  Fitz  to  put  him  to  all  this  trouble  for  nothing. 
Perhaps  it  was  rash  in  him  to  discharge  his  clerk ; 
but  Fitz  was  so  airy  and  impudent,  that  a  decent 
self-respect  would  not  permit  him  to  tolerate  his 
insolence. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  wrote  a  letter,  upon  which  he 
labored  for  a  long  time  ;  for  the  letter  appeared  to 
be  full  of  difficulties.  He  finished  it  at  last;  but, 
instead  of  enclosing  it  in  an  envelope,  he  folded  it 
up  and  put  it  into  his  pocket.  Then  he  took  his 


THE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  187 

hat,  drew  on  his  overcoat,  and  went  out.  He  vis 
ited  a  stationery  store  in  the  lower  part  of  the  street, 
purchased  some  French  paper  and  envelopes,  and 
walked  up  the  street  till  he  saw  the  crowd  in  front 
of  the  Exchange,  which  had  gathered  around  the 
"Hotel  des  Mice:' 

"  What  have  you  here,  boy  ?  "  he  asked,  when  he 
recognized  Leo. 

"  White  mice,  sir.  My  father  can't  work  now,  and 
I  am  going  to  try  and  make  something  by  selling 
them,"  replied  Leo,  cheerfully. 

"  What  is  the  price  ? "  demanded  the  banker, 
rather  curtly. 

"Six  dollars,  sir." 

"  I'll  take  it,  boy,"  replied  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  with 
a  promptness  which  astonished  the  young  mechanic. 

The  banker  took  the  money  from  his  pocket-book 
and  handed  it  to  Leo. 

"  Good  on  your  head  !  "  whispered  Tom  Casey, 
his  eyes  opening  as  wide  as  teacups  when  he  saw 
the  bank  bills ;  and  his  dark  prophecy  was  suddenly 
demolished. 

"  You  know  where  I  live  ? "  interrogated  Mr. 
Checkynshaw. 


188  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Take  it  up  to  the  house,  then,"  added  the  banker. 

"I  will,  sir;"  and  Leo  thought  the  great  man,  as 
his  first  customer,  was  worthy  of  his  reputation. 

Just  then  the  gentleman  who  had  the  lame  boy 
pushed  his  way  into  the  middle  of  the  ring. 

"  What's  the  lowest  price  you  will  take  for  the 
concern  ?  "  said  he. 

"  It  is  sold,  sir,"  replied  Leo,  triumphantly. 

"  Sold ! "  exclaimed  the  tardy  customer,  who  ap 
peared  to  think  that  no  one  could  be  foolish  enough 
to  buy  such  an  establishment  unless  he  had  a  lame 
son. 

"Yes,  sir;   I  just  sold  it." 

"What  did  you  get?" 

"Six  dollars." 

"  I  bought  it,"  interposed  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  bow 
ing  to  the  other  gentleman,  as  though  he  knew  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  take  it,  for  it  would  have 
pleased  my  boy." 

"  You  are  too  late." 

"  But  I  will  get  up  another  for  you,"  said  Leo,  ex 
hilarated  by  this  sudden  improvement  of  the  mouse 
business. 


THE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  189 

"  When  can  you  do  it  ?  "  asked  the  gentleman, 
who  was  quite  disappointed  to  find  he  could  not 
purchase  the  establishment  at  his  own  price,  as  he 
had  expected  to  do  at  a  later  hour  in  the  day,  after 
the  young  man  had  had  an  opportunity  to  consider 
the  vanity  of  worldly  hopes. 

"  That  depends  upon  what  kind  of  one  you  want. 
If  you  wish  for  one  like  this,  I  can't  get  it  done 
before  Monday.  I  can  give  you  a  two-dollar  house, 
with  one  pair  of  mice,  to-morrow,"  replied  Leo,  in 
the  most  business-like  tones. 

"I  want  the  best  one  you  can  get  up.  I  want 
one  as  good  or  better  than  this." 

"  I  will  build  one  as  good  as  this.  I  will  have  it 
at  your  house  on  Monday  ;  but  the  price  will  be 
six  dollars." 

"Very  well.  I  thought  I  should  be  able  to  buy 
this  one  for  two  or  three  dollars  before  nisrht,  for  I 

O         ' 

didn't  think  any  one  else  would  want  it." 

Probably  the  example  of  Mr.  Checkynshaw  had 
some  influence  on  the  customer.  If  white  mice  and 
their  habitations  were  really  articles  of  merchandise, 
he  was  willing  to  pay  the  market  price.  Leo  wrote 


190  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

down  his  name  and  residence,  and  assured  the  gen 
tleman  that  he  should  have  the  mice  on  Monday  ; 
or,  if  he  got  the  house  done,  on  Saturday. 

"Don't  you  want  an  establishment  of  this  kind, 
Baxter  ? "  asked  Mr.  Chcckynshaw  of  a  busy  person 
who  had  worked  his  way  through  the  crowd.  "  You 
have  two  or  three  boys." 

Mr.  Baxter  examined  the  palace  and  its  denizens, 
and  answered  that  he  did  want  one,  though  not  till 
the  banker  informed  him  that  he  had  purchased  one. 
It  is  wonderful  how  things  sell  after  a  great  man 
has  purchased.  The  new  customer  did  not  want 
any  two-dollar  palaces  ;  he  desired  one  as  good  as 
any  other  person  had,  and  he  gave  his  order  accord 
ingly.  If  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  fool  enough  to  pay 
six  dollars  for  such  an  establishment,  Mr.  Baxter 
could  not  suffer  in  reputation  by  doing  the  same. 

Leo  was  as  happy  as  a  lord.  It  was  make,  and 
not  break. 

"  Leo,"  said  the  banker,  "  how  is  your  father  ?  " 

"  Better,  sir,  I  thank  you." 

"I  think  I  will  go  down  and  see  him.  He  has 
shaved  me  for  years.  By  the  way,  is  your  sister  — 
what's  her  name  ?  " 


THE   RICH    MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  191 

"Maggie,  sir." 

"  Is  Maggie  at  home  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  wish  to  see  her  very  much,"  said  Mr.  Check- 
ynshaw,  walking  away. 

What  could  he  want  to  see  Maggie  for  ?  was 
Leo's  thought,  as  he  started  his  team  —  Tom  Casey 
—  up  State  Street. 


192  MAKE    OK   BREAK,    OB 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE    LETTER   FROM   MARGUERITE. 

MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  walked  down  to  No. 
3  Phillimore  Court.  It  was  very  plain  that 
he  had  bu&iness  there,  for  it  was  not  his  style  to  visit 
a  poor  man  who  was  sick.  He  was  admitted  by  Mag 
gie,  who  feared  that  his  coming  related  to  the  robbery 
of  his  safe,  and  that  Leo  might  be  in  some  manner 
implicated  in  that  affair. 

"  How  is  your  father,  miss  ?"  asked  the  stately  gen 
tleman  from  State  Street,  as  he  entered  the  house. 

"He  is  more  comfortable  to-day,  sir;  but  I  don't 
know  that  he  is  really  any  better,"  answered  Maggie. 

"I  am  very  sorry  he  is  sick.  I  miss  him  very 
much.  He  has  waited  upon  me  at  the  shop  for  sev 
eral  years,  and  I  never  let  any  other  barber  shave 
me,  if  I  can  have  him  by  waiting  an  hour,"  added 
Mr.  Checkynshaw,  with  a  degree  of  condescension 
which  he  rarely  exhibited.  "You  are  his  daughter, 
I  believe." 


THE   ETCH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  193 

u  Not  his  own  daughter ;  but  it  is  just  the  same." 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  you  at  the  shop  several 
times." 

"  Yes,  I  always  carry  up  mon  pere's  dinner  at  half 
past  twelve.  He  can't  come  home  at  noon." 

"Mon  peref    You  speak  French  —  do  you?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  speak  French  and  English  equally 
well.  Won't  you  go  in  and  see  mon  pere?" 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  would  be  very  glad  to  see  Andre, 
and  Maggie  conducted  him  to  the  front  room. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  sick,  Andre,"  said  the  great 
man. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  call 
upon  me,"  replied  Andre,  amazed  at  the  gracious 
mien  of  one  who  had  rarely  spoken  to  him  save  in 
the  tones  of  authority,  addressing  him  as  a  menial 
and  an  inferior. 

"  I  always  feel  an  interest  in  those  I  see  every 
day;  but  the  fact  that  you  were  taken  sick  at  my 
house  probably  brought  the  matter  more  directly  to 
my  attention.  Are  you  comfortably  provided  for, 
Andre  ?  "  asked  the  rich  man,  glancing  around  the 
room. 

13 


194  MAKE    OR   BREKK,    OR 

"Yes,  sir;  thank  you,  sir.  I  have  everything  I 
need,"  replied  Andre,  faintly;  for  he  was  not  quite 
so  sure  of  what  he  said  as  he  wished  to  be,  though 
his  pride  and  independence  revolted  at  any  sugges 
tion  of  charity. 

"  I  saw  Leo  up  in  State  Street.  Your  boy's  name 
is  Leo  —  isn't  it?"  asked  the  banker,  just  as  though 
it  derogated  from  his  dignity  to  know  the  name  of  a 
poor  boy  like  the  barber's  son. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  his  name  is  Leo,"  replied  Maggie,  taking 
up  the  conversation,  so  that  the  invalid  might  not  be 
compelled  to  talk  too  much. 

"  He  is  driving  quite  a  trade  in  white  mice,"  laughed 
the  great  man. 

"Has  he  met  with  any  success,  sir?"  asked  Maggie, 
who  felt  that  everything  depended  upon  Leo's  exer 
tions  ;  and  she  hardly  expected  him  to  accomplish 
anything  in  the  mouse  business. 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  remarkably  successful,  I  should 
say." 

"  I  am  so  glad  ! " 

"I  bought  the  house  he  had  with  him  for  six  dol 
lars,  and  he  has  orders  for  two  more  just  like  it,  at 


THE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  195 

the  same  price.  That  will  give  him  quite  a  lift,  I 
hope." 

"  Indeed  it  will ! "  exclaimed  Maggie,  delighted  with 
the  good  news.  "  Eighteen  dollars  for  white  mice, 
mon  pere"  she  added,  turning  to  Andre. 

"  That  is  very  good  indeed ! "  said  the  barber. 
"  Leo  is  a  brave  boy." 

"  Knowing  that  you  had  a  family,  Andre,  and  that 
your  wages  were  not  very  large,  I  thought  I  would 
inquire  into  the  matter  a  little.  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  help  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Checkynshaw,"  replied  Andre, 
in  his  feminine  tones,  weakened  by  his  sickness.  "I 
think  we  do  not  need  any  help  —  do  we,  Maggie  ? " 

"  No,  mon  pere,  especially  as  Leo  is  doing  so  well. 
I  think  we  shall  get  along  well  enough." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  proud  to  be  very  poor," 
said  the  banker,  glancing  at  Maggie. 

"We  have  always  got  along  very  well,  and  I  think 
we  shall  in  the  future.  Leo  says  he  shall  do  great 
things;  and  I  hope  he  will." 

"Then  Leo  is  to  support  the  family,"  added  Mr. 
Checkynshaw,  fixing  his  gaze  upon  the  fair  girl,  who 


196  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

seemed  to  him  altogether  too  delicate  and  refined  to 
be  a  poor  man's  daughter. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  by  and 
by,  when  mon  pere  gets  better." 

"What  can  you  do?" 

"  I  can  sew,  and  do  any  work  that  I  can  take  home 
with  me." 

"  Ah,  ma  fille,  you  can  take  in  no  work.  I  shall 
soon  be  able  to  go  to  the  shop  again,"  interposed 
Andre. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  of  spare  time,  mon  pere.  I 
am  able,  and  O,  I  am  so  willing  to  work  for  you ! " 

"Perhaps  I  may  be  of  service  to  you,"  suggested 
Mr.  Cheeky nshaw. 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"  You  speak  French,  miss,  I  think  you  said,"  added 
the  banker,  with  an  assumed  indifference. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Can  you  write  it  correctly  ? " 

"Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  can.'* 

"Maggie  is  a  very  good  scholar,  and  she  writes 
French  quite  as  well  as  she  does  English." 

w  Perhaps  you  will  be  willing  to  give  me  a  speci 
men  of  your  skill  in  translating." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  197 

"Certainly,  sir,  if  you  desire  it." 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  took  from  his  pocket  the  letter 
he  had  written  in  his  private  office,  and  the  French 
note  paper  he  had  purchased  at  the  stationery  store, 
and  handed  them  to  her. 

"If  you  will  sit  down  in  the  other  room,  and  give 
me  a  translation  into  French  of  this  letter,  I  can  at 
once  determine  whether  you  would  be  of  any  service 
to  us.  If  you  are,  we  will  pay  you  very  liberally ; 
but  most  of  our  work  of  this  kind  is  translating 
French  into  English." 

"I  will  try,  sir,"  replied  Maggie. 

"  I  will  stay  here  with  your  father  while  you  do  it." 

Maggie  went  into  the  rear  room;  and  in  less  than 
half  an  hour  she  produced  a  translation  of  the  letter 
handed  to  her. 

"That  is  excellently  well  done,  miss,"  said  Mr. 
Checkynshaw,  when  he  had  glanced  at  the  translation. 
"You  write  a  beautiful  hand.  It  is  even  better  than 
my  daughter's." 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir." 

"I  will  keep  this  as  a  specimen  of  your  work. 
Here  are  two  dollars  for  the  job,"  added  Mr.  Check 
ynshaw,  as  he  gave  her  the  money. 


198  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OB 

"Indeed,  sir,  you  are  too  kind.  I  don't  ask  any 
money  for  that." 

"  Take  it,  Maggie ;  I  always  pay  people  that  work 
for  me,  especially  when  they  do  their  work  as  well 
as  you  have  done  this.  Take  it,  miss,  or  I  shall  be 
offended." 

It  was  not  safe  to  offend  such  a  munificent  patron, 
and  Maggie  took  the  money,  blushing  as  she  did  so. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  folded  up  the  translation,  and 
put  it  into  his  pocket;  and,  promising  to  send  her 
some  more  letters  in  a  few  days,  he  took  his  leave. 
The  banker  went  back  to  his  private  office.  After 
ransacking  his  papers  for  a  long  time,  he  found  an 
old  letter  directed  to  him,  in  the  care  of  the  firm, 
postmarked  at  Paris,  with  a  French  postage  stamp 
upon  it.  Into  the  envelope  of  this  letter  he  thrust 
the  translation  which  Maggie  had  made. 

The  banker  seated  himself  in  his  arm-chair,  put 
his  feet  on  the  desk,  and  lighted  a  cigar.  Mr.  Check 
ynshaw  held  to  the  pernicious  belief  that  smoking 
soothed  the  nerves  of  an  excited  man.  He  smoked 
and  thought  for  a  while,  till  his  meditations  were 
disturbed  by  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Wittleworth  and 
Fitz. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  199 

"I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  for  coming  again  so 
soon,  Mr.  Checkynshaw,"  said  Mrs.  Wittleworth, 
timidly. 

"  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  too,"  added  Fitz,  thrust 
ing  his  thumbs  into  the  arm-holes  of  his  vest,  and 
pursing  up  his  under  lip,  as  he  had  a  habit  of  doing 
when  he  particularly  realized  his  own  importance. 

He  stood  with  his  hat  on  his  head  —  a  narrow- 
brimmed  "stove-pipe,"  which  young  men  were  more 
in  the  habit  of  wearing  at  that  period  than  at  the 
present  time.  He  was  the  impersonation  of  impu 
dence  and  self-conceit,  and  the  banker  looked  angry 
enough  to  annihilate  him. 

"  I  thought  I  would  come  and  see  if  you  had  any 
thing  to  show  me  from  Marguerite,"  continued  Mrs. 
Wittleworth,  after  the  banker  had  bestowed  a  look 
of  supreme  contempt  upon  Fitz. 

"I  have  something  to  show  you,"  replied  Mr.  Check 
ynshaw,  taking  the  old  envelope  which  contained  Mag 
gie's  translation  from  his  pocket,  and  handing  it  to  her. 

Fitz  was  rather  taken  aback  by  this  ready  reply,  and 
by  the  sight  of  the  musty  envelope.  His  nether  lip 
actually  returned  to  its  normal  position  under  the 
shock. 


200  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  This  is  from  Marguerite  —  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  "Wit- 
tleworth. 

"It  is  from  Marguerite,"  replied  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

""What  is  it,  mother?  Open  it.  Don't  be  hum- 
bugged,"  said  Fitz. 

The  poor  woman  opened  the  letter,  and  looked 
blankly  at  its  contents. 

"It  is  in  French,"  she  added. 

"Marguerite  always  writes  her  letters  in  French," 
added  the  banker. 

"Because  she  knows  you  can't  read  a  word  of 
French,"  sneered  Fitz. 

"  No  impudence,  young  man  ! " 

"  Don't,  Fitz ! "  pleaded  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw,  this  business  must  be  settled 
between  me  and  you.  You  will  not  be  permitted 
to  take  advantage  of  a  woman's  weakness  to  impose 
upon  her,"  added  Fitz,  magnificently. 

"If  you  use  any  impudence  in  this  office,  young 
man,  I  shall  kick  you  out  to-day  as  I  did  yesterday." 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw,  I  have  my  own  views  and  opin 
ions  on  this  subject,  and  I  claim  the  privilege  of  ex 
pressing  them  as  a  gentleman  should.  I  have  been 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  201 

to  see  Ohoate  on  this  business ;  and  me  and  Choate 
will  see  that  justice  is  done  to  the  unfortunate." 

"Be  still,  Fitz!"  said  his  mother. 

"I  will  not  be  still,  mother,"  protested  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth.  "  I  will  not  stand  still  and  have  you  imposed 
upon."  •  . 

The  banker  sprang  out  of  his  chair,  and  his  late 
clerk  retreated  a  pace  or  two. 

"  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  I  have  only  one  word  to  say," 
he  added,  placing  himself  near  enough  to  the  door 
to  effect  a  hasty  retreat  in  case  of  necessity.  "My 
mother  is  disposed  to  accept  your  offer  of  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  for  a  quitclaim  deed  of  the  block  of 
stores.  I  don't  intend  that  she  shall  do  anything  of 
the  kind.  I've  been  to  my  lawyer,  sir  —  a  gentleman 
recommended  by  Choate ;  for  Choate  is  so  busy  that 
he  can't  attend  to  the  case  personally ;  and  my  lawyer 
says  that  none  but  a  non  compos  would  give  a  quit 
claim  deed  to  the  property.  If  my  mother  sees  fit 
to  sign  any  such  paper,  my  lawyer  will  take  steps  to 
restrain  her,  sir.  Those  are  my  views.  I've  nothing 
more  to  say,  Mr.  Checkynshaw." 

Mr.  Wittleworth  tipped  his  hat  over  on  one  side, 


202  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

thrust  his  thumbs  into  his  arm-holes,  and  pursed  up 
his  lips  again,  as  though  he  had  already  set  the  river 
on  fire.  His  mother  was  angry  and  disgusted  with 
him,  as  she  often  had  occasion  to  be. 

"  Is  the  quitclaim  deed  ready,  Mr.  Checkynshaw  ?  " 
asked  the  poor  woman. 

"  No ;  but  it  shall  be  ready,  and  the  check  with  it^ 
to-inorrow." 

"Mother,"  exclaimed  Fitz,  in  warning  tones,  —  and 
he  evidently  did  not  place  much  dependence  upon 
the  restraining  power  of  his  lawyer,  —  "you  prom^ 
ised  not  to  sign  any  paper  to-day." 

"And  you  promised  to  behave  yourself,  Fitz,  if  1 
permitted  you  to  come  with  me.  I  can't  depend  upon 
you,  and  I  am  going  to  accept  Mr.  Checkynshaw's 
offer,"  retorted  his  mother,  sharply. 

"  You  are  ?  "  gasped  Fitz. 

"  I  am ;  and  if  the  paper  was*  ready,  I  would  sign 
it  this  moment.  Will  you  let  me  take  this  letter 
home  with  me,  Mr.  Checkynshaw?" 

"Certainly,  Ellen,"  replied  the  banker,  graciously. 

"  I  used  to  read  French  a  little  when  I  was  a  girl, 
and  I  may  be  able  to  study  out  some  of  it." 


THE    KICK    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  203 

"  As  you  like ;  but  when  you  come  again,  don't 
bring  that  boy  with  you." 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  and  her  son  retired.  On  their 
way  home,  an  angry  discussion  ensued.  Fitz  raved 
at  the  weakness  of  women  in  general,  and  of  his 
mother  in  particular;  but  she  firmly  declared,  even 
if  she  was  satisfied  that  Marguerite  was  not  living, 
she  would  sign  the  deed.  In  the  house,  both  of  them 
examined  the  letter.  Fitz  did  not  know  a  word  of 
French,  and  his  mother  could  only  make  out  '•'•Man 
cher  pere"  and  an  occasional  word  in  the  letter. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  we  can  do,  mother.  Andre 
Maggirnore,  round  in  Phillimore  Court,  is  a  French 
man,  and  can  talk  French  like  a  Dutchman." 

"But  he  is  very  sick,  you  said." 

"  So  he  is.  Well,  his  daughter  Maggie  can  read  it. 
I  will  take  it  to  her  this  evening." 

After  supper,  Fitz,  with  the  letter  in  his  pocket, 
started  for  the  barber's  house. 


204  MAKE    OK   BREAK,    OB, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  LETTEK  FROM  FRANCE. 

LEO  conducted  his  team  to  Pemberton  Square, 
and  knocked  at  the  back  door  of  the  rich  man's 
house.  One  of  the  kitchen  girls  answered  the  sum 
mons,  and  great  was  her  surprise  when  she  saw  the 
palace  of  the  mice.  It  was  taken  into  the  kitchen, 
and  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  was  called.  She  came  down, 
accompanied  by  Miss  Elinora.  Leo  explained  that 
the  banker  had  purchased  the  establishment,  and 
that  he  had  been  directed  to  deliver  it. 

Elinora,  though  she  had  sat  up  late  the  night  be 
fore  at  the  party,  and  had  been  very  ill-natured  all 
day,  was  surprised  into  a  smile  of  pleasure  when  she 
saw  the  cunning  little  creatures  in  their  curious 
house.  Leo  gave  them  some  canary  seed,  of  which 
he  carried  a  supply  in  his  pocket,  in  order  to  in 
duce  the  pets  to  exhibit  themselves  when  desired. 
They  had  behaved  very  well  thus  far,  and  had  pro- 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  205 

duced  a  favorable  impression  upon  all  who  had  seen 
them. 

Elinora  was  pleased  with  the  mice  because  they 
promised  to  afford  her  a  new  sensation. 

"I  think  I'll  have  them  in  my  chamber,  mother, 
where  I  can  see  them,"  said  she,  after  she  had 
looked  at  them  a  while. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  them  in  my  chamber,  miss,"  re 
plied  Leo. 

"Why,  not?" 

"  They  sleep  in  the  daytime,  and  train  in  the 
night.  They  would  rattle  about  the  house  so  that 
you  could  not  sleep." 

"  I  will  have  them  in  my  dressing-room,  then," 
added  she. 

"  That's  not  exactly  the  place  for  them,"  continued 
Leo,  who  had  not  a  very  clear  idea  of  what  the 
dressing-room  was. 

"  Where  would  you  keep  them,  then  ? "  asked 
Elinora,  petulantly. 

"In  the  kitchen,  or  the  back  room." 

"  What,  keep  such  a  pretty  cage  as  that  in  the 
kitchen  ? "  exclaimed  the  rich  man's  daughter. 


206  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"You  can  see  it  just  as  well  in  the  kitchen  as  in 
the  parlor,  and  it  is  just  as  handsome  in  one  place 
as  another,  miss.  White  mice  are  pretty  little  crea 
tures,  miss ;  but,  like  rabbits,  squirrels,  and  other 
animals,  they  have  an  odor  of  their  own  which  isn't 
pleasant,  especially  when  they  are  shut  up  in  a  warm 
room,"  Leo  explained,  with  a  smile  to  soften  the  dis 
paraging  remark,  for  he  didn't  like  to  say  anything 
against  the  pets. 

"  I  don't  want  them,  then,"  said  Elinora,  turning 
up  her  delicate  nose. 

"  They  won't  trouble  you  if  you  have  them  well 
cared  for,  and  keep  them  in  a  proper  place.  A 
horse  is  a  very  fine  animal ;  but  you  would  not  find 
him  agreeable  in  the  parlor,"  added  Leo.  "  There's 
a  nice  place  for  them ; "  and  he  pointed  to  the  wash 
room,  through  which  he  had  entered  the  kitchen. 
"  You  can  come  down  and  see  them  when  you 
wish,  and  they  won't  trouble  any  one  out  there." 

Mrs.  Checkynshaw  decided  to  have  the  house  put 
up  in  the  wash-room,  as  Leo  suggested,  and  the 
young  mechanic  volunteered  to  do  the  work.  He 
had  brought  with  him  a  couple  of  wooden  brackets 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  207 

and  some  screws,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  Tom 
Casey,  he  put  them  up,  and  placed  the  palace  upon 
them.  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  and  her  daughter  watched 
the  operation  with  interest,  and  asked  a  great  many 
questions  about  the  mice  and  their  habits.  Leo 
talked  and  worked,  and  by  the  time  he  had  finished 
th'e  job,  he  had  explained  all  he  knew  of  the  little 
animals.  He  told  the  kitchen  girl,  who  was  to  take 
care  of  them,  how  to  feed  them,  and  how  to  clean  out 
the  cage,  admonishing  her  to  do  the  latter  every  day. 

The  lady  of  the  house  was  so  well  pleased  with 
the  zeal  and  pains  displayed  by  the  young  mechanic, 
that  she  gave  him  half  a  dollar  for  the  extra  labor 
he  had  performed ;  and  Leo  and  Tom  left  the  house. 

"  It's  a  good  job  you've  done  the  day,"  said  Tom, 
as  they  walked  down  the  square. 

"  I've  done  first  rate,  Tom.  I've  sold  my  work 
for  a  fair  price,  and  got  two  more  jobs.  I'm  lucky, 
and  I'm  very  grateful,  too,  for  my  good  fortune. 
Tom,  I'll  give  you  the  half  dollar  the  lady  handed 
to  me  for  your  share  of  the  work." 

"  Go  way  wid  you !  I  won't  take  it !  "  protested 
the  Irish  boy. 


208  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  Yes,  you  must,  Tom.  You  have  helped  rn&.  I 
don't  know  how  I  should  have  got  along  without 
you." 

"Niver  you  mind  that.  Your  ould  man  is  sick, 
and  it's  great  need  you'll  have  of  all  the  money  you 
can  lay  your  hands  on." 

"But  I  have  made  six  dollars  besides  this,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  pocket  all  the  plunder.  Take  this, 
and  buy  some  book  you  need." 

Tom  was  finally  prevailed  upon  to  accept  the 
half  dollar,  though  he  did  so  under  protest.  Leo 
was  happy  —  never  so  happy  before  in  his  life.  Suc 
cess  had  crowned  his  darling  scheme,  and  he  entered 
the  house  with  a  radiant  smile  upon  his  face.  But, 
in  the  midst  of  his  exultant  joy,  he  did  not  forget 
that  his  father,  for  whose  sake  he  had  been  stimu 
lated  to  make  this  mighty  effort,  was  very  sick.  As 
softly  as  a  cat  he  opened  the  front  door,  and  carried 
his  wagon  down  cellar.  He  was  disposed  to  go  to 
work  at  once  at  his  bench,  and  make  the  two 
palaces  which  had  been  ordered ;  but  he  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  go  up  and  tell  Maggie  what 
a  splendid  success  he  had  realized. 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  209 

"  How  is  father  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  whisper,  as  he 
entered  the  rear  room,  where  Maggie  was  at  work. 

"  He  is  about  the  same.  He  sleeps  a  great  deal, 
and  I  hope  he  will  soon  be  better,"  she  replied. 
"  So  you  have  sold  your  mouse-house,  Leo,"  she 
added,  with  a  sympathizing  smile. 

"Who  told  you  I  had?"  asked  Leo,  rather  pro 
voked  that  any  one  had  robbed  him  of  the  pleasure 
of  telling  the  triumphant  news  himself. 

"  Mr.  Checkynshaw  has  been  here,"  said  she,  laughing. 

"Did  he  tell  you  how  much  he  gave  for  the 
mouse-house  ?  " 

"  Six  dollars ;  and  he  said  you  had  orders  for  two 
more  at  the  same  price.  How  lucky  you  are,  Leo ! " 

"  So  I  am  ;  but  I  was  almost  discouraged  before 
I  found  a  single  purchaser.  If  it  hadn't  been  make 
or  break  with  me,  I  should  have  given  up,  and  come 
home.  I  feel  good  now,  Maggie,  I  can  tell  you !  If 
the  market  for  white  mice  holds  good,  I  shall  make 
my  fortune." 

"  I  hope  it  will  hold  good,  at  least  till  father  gets 
well.  He  was  so  delighted  when  he  heard  of  your 
success ! " 

14 


210  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OK 

"I  shall  finish  the  two  houses  ordered  this  week, 
if  I  can,  and  that  will  make  eighteen  dollars  —  not 
in  a  week,  but  in  three  days." 

"  Twenty,  Leo,"  added  Maggie,  with  a  smile. 

"  Twenty  ?  Three  times  six  are  eighteen,"  laughed 
Leo. 

"I  made  two  dollars  to-day  by  translating  a  letter 
for  Mr.  Checkynshaw ;  and  he  has  more  such  work 
for  me  to  do." 

"  How  lucky  we  are  !  "  exclaimed  Leo  ;  and  he 
had  not  lived  long  enough,  or  seen  enough  of  the 
world,  to  realize  that  the  lucky  ones  are  almost 
always  those  who  are  industrious  and  energetic — a 
lesson  he  was  to  learn  in  due  time. 

Leo  went  in  to  see  Andre ;  and  the  barber  de 
clared,  that  with  two  such  children  as  he  had,  he 
could  afford  to  be  sick,  and  that  a  terribly  heavy 
load  had  been  removed  from  his  mind. 

"  The  good  God  is  kind  to  me,"  said  he,  reverently 
raising  his  eyes.  "My  children  are  taking  care  of 
me  while  I  am  helpless,  as  I  took  care  of  them 
when  they  were  helpless." 

Andre    was    patient    and    submissive  —  not   as  a 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  211 

philosopher,  but  as  a  Christian.  The  great  calamity 
of  want  had  apparently  been  turned  from  his  door, 
and  he  was  happy  —  happy  in  his  heart,  even  while 
tiis  frame  was  suffering.  Blessed  are  they  in  whom. 
Christian  faith  and  hope  have  found  a  resting-place ! 
In  his  care  for  these  two  children,  Andre  had  long 
before  been  led  to  place  his  trust  in  things  higher 
than  earth,  and  in  striving  to  guide  them  in  the 
right  path,  he  had  found  it  himself. 

Leo  remained  but  a  few  moments  in  the  sick 
room,  and  then  hastened  down  to  the  workshop  to 
commence  the  jobs  for  which  he  had  contracted. 
Laying  aside  the  four  houses  in  which  he  had  made 
some  progress,  he  proceeded  to  "  get  out "  the  lum 
ber  for  the  others.  On  a  paper,  stuck  up  under 
the  window,  was  the  plan  of  the  establishment  he 
had  sold  to  the  banker,  with  all  the  dimensions  writ 
ten  upon  it.  Under  the  bench  he  had  several  hun 
dred  feet  of  half-inch  pine  boards,  which  he  had 
purchased  with  money  earned  by  shovelling  off  side* 
walks. 

As  the  plan  was  already  drawn,  and  he  knew  ex 
actly  how  all  the  parts  were  to  be  put  together,  there 


212  MAKE    OR    BKEAK,    OR 

was  no  delay  in  the  work.  He  had  sawed  out  all 
the  lumber  required  for  the  two  houses,  and  had 
nicely  planed  the  boards,  when  Maggie  called  him 
to  supper.  He  had  worked  very  hard,  but  he  did 
not  feel  tired.  He  was  never  weary  of  mechanical 
employment  like  this,  even  when  doing  it  with  no 
distinct  end  in  view  ;  but  now  that  he  was  to  keep 
the  wolf  from  the  door,  there  was  an  inspiration 
in  the  work  which  lifted  him.  above  bodily  fa 
tigue. 

He  went  to  his  supper  with  a  keen  appetite ;  but 
he  did  not  like  to  spare  the  time  to  eat  it,  and  it 
seemed  like  a  hardship  to  be  compelled  to  leave  the 
workshop.  When  he  had  finished  his  supper,  and 
was  hurrying  down  stairs,  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
front  door.  He  hoped  it  was  a  customer  come  to 
order  a  mouse-house ;  but  he  was  disappointed,  when 
he  went  to  the  door,  to  find  only  Fitz  Wittleworth 
there. 

"  Good  evening,  Leo.  Is  your  sister  at  home  ? " 
asked  Fitz,  in  his  usual  patronizing  tones. 

"She  is,"  replied  Leo,  rather  coldly,  for  he  could 
not  see  what  Fitz  wanted  with  his  sister. 


THE  RICH  MAN'S  DAUGHTER.  213 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her,"  added  Fitz,  loftily,  aa 
though  his  presence  at  the  house  of  the  barber  was 
a  condescension  which  Leo  ought  to  appreciate. 

"  My  father  is  sick,  and  Maggie  is  busy  taking 
care  of  him,"  replied  Leo,  who  felt  that  he  was  now 
the  guardian  of  his  sister,  and  he  did  not  want  any 
young  men  "  hanging  round,"  especially  such  young 
men  as  Mr.  Wittleworth. 

"I  wish  to  see  her  on  business,"  persisted  Fitz, 
annoyed  at  Leo's  answers,  and  the  evident  want 
of  appreciation  of  the  honor  of  his  visit  which  the 
young  mechanic  exhibited. 

"  I'll  speak  to  her.     Won't  you  come  in  ?  " 

Fitz  would  come  in,  and  he  did.  He  was  shown 
to  the  rear  room,  where  Maggie  was  clearing  off  the 
supper  table.  Fitz  was  a  young  "  man  of  the  world," 
and  as  imitative  as  a  monkey.  He  had  once  moved 
in  what  he  called  "good  society,"  and  was  familiar 
with  all  the  little  courtesies  of  life.  He  expressed 
his  regret  at  the  illness  of  Andre  in  the  most  courtly 
terms,  and  his  sympathy  with  Maggie.  Leo  wanted 
to  go  to  work,  but  he  felt  obliged  to  remain,  and 
witness  the  interview. 


214  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"You  will  excuse  me  for  calling  at  such  a  time; 
but  I  will  not  detain  you  long,  Miss  Maggimore.  I 
understand  that  you  are  a  French  scholar.  Am  I 
rightly  informed  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  I  speak  French,"  replied  Maggie,  begin 
ning  to  expect  another  job  in  translating. 

"And  I  suppose  you  read  French." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  have  really  forgotten  all  the  French  I  ever 
knew,"  continued  Mr.  Wittleworth,  apologetically  ; 
and  one  would  have  supposed,  from  his  manner, 
that  the  French  language  was  the  only  thing  in 
the  world  he  did  not  know,  and  that  it  was  in 
tensely  humiliating  to  acknowledge  that  he  did  not 
know  that.  "  I  have  a  letter  from  France,  written 
in  French,  which  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
I  should  read.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  call 
upon  you  to  beg  the  favor  of  a  translation  of  the 
letter." 

Mr.  Wittleworth  took  from  his  pocket  the  letter 
which  the  banker  had  given  to  his  mother. 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  assist  you,"  added 
Maggie,  kindly. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  215 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Maggimore.  If  you  will  give 
me  the  English  of  the  letter,  I  will  write  down  the 
important  part  of  it,"  continued  Fitz,  taking  a  pencil 
and  paper  from  his  pocket,  seating  himself  at  the 
table,  and  handing  her  the  letter. 

"  It  is  postmarked  Paris,"  said  she,  glancing  at  the 
envelope. 

"  So  I  observed." 

"  Why,  this  is  the  very  letter  I  translated  into 
French  for  Mr.  Checkynshaw  to-day  !  "  exclaimed 
Maggie,  innocently,  as  she  took  the  paper  from  the 
envelope. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  replied  Fitz,  thoroughly  illuminated 
by  this  flood  of  light. 

Maggie's  fair  face  was  instantly  covered  with 
blushes.  She  was  confident,  a  moment  too  late, 
that  she  had  exposed  some  of  Mr.  Checkynshaw's 
business. 

* 

"  You  translated  this  letter  into  French  for  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  —  did  you  ?  "  asked  Fitz,  taking  the 
letter  from  her,  and  folding  up  his  paper,  as  he  rose 
from  his  chair. 

"  I   did,"   replied   Maggie  ;   for  now  that   the  mis- 


216  MAKE    OB   BREAK,   OK 

chief,   whatever  it   was,   had  been   done,   she    could 
only  tremble  for  the  consequences. 

"  If  you  did,  I  needn't  trouble  you  to  translate  it 
back  again,"  added  Fitz,  as  he  took  his  hat  and  left 
the  house  very  abruptly. 


THE    KICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  217 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    QUITCLAIM    DEED. 

*' "1\ /¥"  OTHER,  you  are  determined  to  be  imposed 
_1_T  JL  upon,"  said  Fitz,  as  he  rushed  into  the  house 
with  the  astounding  intelligence  he  had  obtained  in 
Phillimore  Court. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  afford  to  refuse  a  gift  of  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  —  I  cannot,"  replied  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 
"I  did  not  ask  or  beg  anything  of  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 
He  volunteered  to  give  it  to  me,  rather  for  my  sister's 
sake  than  my  own,  perhaps ;  but  I  feel  that  I  ought 
to  take  it." 

"  Don't  touch  it,  mother ! "  protested  Fitz.  "  It  will 
be  the  ruin  of  you  if  you  do.  Mother,  you  have  no 
confidence  in  me.  You  are  willing  to  trust  almost 
any  one  rather  than  me." 

"I  judge  for  myself.  It  is  better  to  take  Mr.  Check- 
ynshaw's  gift  than  to  starve." 

"  O,  nonsense,  mother !     Why  will  you  be  so  ab* 


218  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OB 

surd  ?  "  groaned  Fitz.  "  Why  will  you  persist  in  talk 
ing  about  starving?" 

"  Why  will  I,  Fitz  ?  Because  we  have  hardly  five 
dollars  in  the  world,  and  both  of  us  are  out  of  work." 

"  But  I  shall  get  something  to  do  in  a  few  days. 
Will  you  let  me  bring  the  suit  against  Checkynshaw 
for  the  block  of  stores  ?  " 

"No,  I  will  not,  Fitz." 

"I  told  you  Checkynshaw  was  imposing  upon  you, 
and  now  I  have  proved  it." 

"  What  have  you  proved  ?  " 

"I  have  proved  that  this  letter  is  a  forgery,  as  I 
believed  it  was.  It  was  translated  into  French  this 
very  day  by  the  barber's  daughter.  It  was  not  writ 
ten  by  Marguerite,  and  I  knew  it  was  not ! "  replied 
Fitz,  triumphantly;  and  he  proceeded  to  describe  in 
detail  the  result  of  his  application  to  Maggie  to  trans 
late  the  letter. 

"It  doesn't  make  much  difference  whether  it  is  a 
forgery  or  not,"  added  the  poor  woman,  in  whose 
mind  ten  thousand  dollars  overshadowed  every  other 
consideration. 

"Doesn't  it!"  sneered  Fitz,  out  of  patience  with  his 
mother. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  219 

"Not  much.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  says  Marguerite  is 
living;  and,  whether  he  means  to  do  right  or  wrong,  he 
is  a  man  of  great  wealth  and  influence,  and  we  could 
makb  nothing  by  going  to  law  with  him.  We  haven't 
money  enough  to  keep  us  out  of  the  almshouse  more 
tnan  a  fortnight  longer." 

"But  don't  I  say  we  need  no  money  to  carry  on 
the  suit  ?  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  attach  the  prop 
erty.  Checkynshaw  won't  stand  trial.  He'll  settle 
it ;  he'll  give  up  the  block  of  stores." 

"You  don't  know  him,"  sighed  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"If  I  don't  know  him,  I'd  like  to  know  who  does. 
Haven't  I  been  in  the  office  with  him  for  years? 
Choate  couldn't  attend  to  this  business  himself;  but 
he  recommended  a  lawyer,  a  friend  of  his,  and  I  have 
been  to  see  him.  I  am  to  call  again  to-morrow." 

"  I  am  willing  to  hear  all  that  can  be  said,  Fitz,  on 
both  sides,"  replied  the  poor  woman,  tired  of  the  con 
troversy,  but  still  believing  that  "a  bird  in  the  hand 
was  worth  two  in  the  bush."  "I  will  go  with  you, 
and  hear  what  your  lawyer  has  to  say." 

"Go  with  me!"  sneered  Fitz.  "Do  you  think  1 
can't  do  the  business  alone?" 


220  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  You  don't  know  as  much  as  you  think  you  do, 
Fitz." 

"  Perhaps  I  don't ;  but  if  I  don't  understand  this 
case,  then  nobody  does." 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  was  disgusted,  and  Fitz  was  dis 
gusted  ;  and  both  were  silent,  rather  because  there 
was  no  prospect  of  making  any  progress  in  the  busi 
ness  than  because  either  was  satisfied.  Fitz  had  been 
to  see  the  attorney  recommended  by  the  distinguished 
orator  —  a  young  fellow,  whose  practice  was  mostly 
confined  to  the  police  court,  and  who  was  so  weak 
and  silly  as  to  be  an  object  of  ridicule  to  his  profes 
sional  brethren.  This  gentleman  was  willing  to  look 
into  the  case.  He  went  to  the  registry  of  probate, 
and  read  the  will.  So  far  Fitz  was  justified.  The 
next  morning  the  lawyer  called  on  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 
It  was  very  unprofessional,  but  it  was  very  prudent. 
He  did  not  wish  to  annoy  a  gentleman  in  his  position 
if  there  were  no  just  grounds  for  a  suit. 

The  banker  was  much  obliged  to  him  for  calling. 
The  banker  was  plausible,  and  the  banker  finally 
gave  him  a  retaining  fee  of  fifty  dollars  to  act  for 
the  defence,  in  case  a  suit  was  brought  against  him. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  221 

He  had  discharged  Fitz  for  impudence,  and  he  was 
merely  seeking  some  way  to  annoy  him.  The  lawyer 
was  satisfied,  and  so  was  the  banker. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  Fitz,  attended  by  his 
mother,  called  upon  the  attorney.  He  had  looked 
into  the  case ;  he  was  satisfied  there  was  no  ground 
for  an  action,  and  he  declined  to  undertake  the  suit. 
Fitz  was  confounded  by  this  reply. 

"I  hope  you  are  satisfied  now,  Fitz,"  said  Mrs.  Wit- 
tleworth,  when  they  were  in  the  street. 

"  I  am  sui-e  I  am  not.  That  man  has  been  tam 
pered  with!  I'll  speak  to  Choate  about  that.  Does 
that  man  mean  to  tell  me  that  we  have  no  grounds 
for  a  suit  ?  "  replied  Fitz,  indignantly.  "  I  shall  find 
another  lawyer,  who  will  undertake  the  case." 

"You  needn't  do  anything  more  about  it.  I  am. 
going  to  Mr.  Checkynshaw's  now." 

"Are  you  going  to  accept  his  offer?"  almost  gasped 
Fitz. 

"I  am." 

"This  is  madness,  mother." 

"It  would  be  madness  not  to  accept  it;  and  I 
will  not  let  the  sun  go  down  again  before  I  close 


222  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

the  business,  if  Mr.  Checkynshaw  is  still  of  the  same 
mind." 

"  Will  you  give  up  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  for 
ten  thousand  ? "  groaned  Fitz.  "  We  can  live  in 
Beacon  Street,  and  ride  in  our  carriage,  if  you  will 
only  take  my  advice." 

"I  shall  be  more  likely  to  ride  in  the  Black  Maria 
over  to  the  almshouse,  if  I  take  your  advice.  My 
mind  is  made  up,  Fitz,"  replied  his  mother,  very  de 
cidedly. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  mother,"  said  Fitz,  desperately. 

"You  needn't." 

"  I  must  be  a  witness  of  the  transaction,  for,  in 
my  opinion,  it  will  be  a  swindle  on  the  part  of  Check 
ynshaw  ;  and  if  I  can  pick  him  up  on  it  I  mean  to 
do  so." 

"Fitz,  if  you  are  impudent  to  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  he 
will  put  you  out  of  his  office." 

"  I  will  not  be  impudent  to  him  unless  he  is  impu 
dent  to  me." 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  led  the  way  now,  and  Fitz  reluc 
tantly  followed  toer.  He  was  in  despair.  He  actually 
believed  his  mother  was  selling  out  her  inheritance, 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  223 

a  princely  fortune,  for  a  mere  song;  that  she  was 
sacrificing  the  brightest  hopes  a  person  ever  had. 
Indeed,  he  went  a  point  beyond  this,  and  believed 
she  was  selling  out  his  hopes  and  expectations;  that 
she  was  wronging  him  out  of  a  brilliant  future.  But 
Fitz  might  have  comforted  himself  with  the  reflection 
that  he  had  vigorously  opposed  the  sacrifice,  and  that 
it  had  been  made  on  account  of  no  want  of  judgment 
and  forethought  on  his  part. 

Fitz  followed  his  mother  into  the  banker's  private 
office.  Mrs.  Wittleworth  herself  was  not  entirely 
satisfied  with  the  situation.  She  was  not  at  all  sure 
that  Marguerite  had  not  died  of  cholera  ten  years 
before.  Mr.  Checkynshaw's  course  rather  indicated 
that  he  was  playing  a  deep  game.  Why  did  he  want 
a  quitclaim  deed,  if  his  rights  were  clear?  Why  had 
he  forged  a  letter  from  Marguerite,  when  he  must 
have  real  ones,  if  the  daughter  was  still  living?  And 
it  was  not  like  him  to  give  ten  thousand  dollars  to 
a  person  who  had  no  claim  upon  him. 

The  poor  woman's  circumstances  were  desperate. 
Want  or  the  almshouse  stared  her  in  the  face.  It 
was  possible,  nay,  it  was  probable,  that  Mr.  Cheeky n- 


224  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

shaw  was  deceiving  her ;  that  Marguerite  was  dead, 
and  that  the  block  of  stores  rightfully  belonged  to 
her ;  but  she  had  no  chances  of  success  in  fighting 
a  battle  with  wealth  and  influence.  If  she  brought 
the  suit,  the  ten  thousand  dollars  would  certainly  be 
lost,  and  the  chances  of  obtaining  the  block  of  stores 
were  all  against  her.  The  money  the  banker  would 
pay  her  would  keep  her  from  want  for  the  rest  of  her 
lifetime.  The  income  of  it  would  support  her  little 
family  comfortably. 

"  I  will  sign  the  deed,  Mr.  Checkynshaw,"  said  she, 
walking  up  to  the  desk  where  the  banker  sat. 

"  Why  did  you  bring  that  boy  with  you  ? "  asked 
the  great  man,  with  a  look  of  contempt  at  his  late 
clerk. 

"He  insisted  upon  coming." 

"I  think  I  have  an  interest  in  this  business,"  replied 
Fitz,  loftily.  "I  will  be  civil,  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  but 
I  should  like  to  ask  you  one  or  two  questions." 

"You  needn't." 

"But  I  will.  Why  do  you  give  my  mother  a  letter 
purporting  to  come  from  your  daughter  Marguerite, 
which  was  written  by  Miss  Maggimore?  That's  the 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  225 

first  question  I  want  to  ask,"  said  Fitz,  with  the  air 
of  a  conqueror. 

The  banker  was  a  little  startled;  but  he  did  not 
lose  his  self-possession  —  he  seldom  did  in  merely 
business  transactions. 

"The  letter  I  gave  you  was  a  true  copy,  Ellen," 
said  he. 

"  It  makes  but  little  difference  to  me  whether  it  was 
a  true  copy  or  not,"  she  added. 

"  The  originals  of  Marguerite's  letters  were  in 
my  safe,  and  were  stolen  with  other  papers.  If  your 
son  knows  Pilky  Wayne,  he  may  be  able  to  recover 
them." 

"  I  scorn  the  insinuation,  Mr.  Checkynshaw,"  replied 
Fitz,  indignantly. 

"I  speak  a  little  French,  Ellen,  but  I  do  not  read 
it  very  readily ;  and  I  had  translations  made  of  Mar 
guerite's  letters,"  continued  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  with 
out  noticing  the  irate  young  man.  "  One  of  these 
translations  I  had  rendered  back  into  the  French 
rather  to  give  employment  to  the  barber's  daughter 
than  for  any  other  reason." 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  felt  no  interest  in  the  translation. 
15 


226  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OB 

Probably  the  banker  was  imposing  upon  her  credulity, 
but  she  did  not  care  if  he  was. 

"  Are  the  papers  ready,  Mr.  Checkynshaw  ? "  she 
asked,  timidly,  fearful  that  he  had  altered  his  mind 
in  regard  to  the  money. 

"They  are." 

"I  am  ready  to  sign  the  deed." 

The  banker  produced  the  document,  and  the  check, 
and  laid  them  upon  the  desk. 

"Will  you  witness  your  mother's  signature,  Fitz?" 
asked  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

"No,  sir.  I  will  have  no  part  in  this  transaction," 
replied  he,  sourly.  "It  will  become  my  duty,  at  no 
distant  day,  to  rip  up  the  whole  thing." 

"  Burnet ! "  called  the  banker,  opening  the  window. 

The  taciturn  cashier  appeared. 

"Witness  this  signature,"  added  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  signed  the  quitclaim  deed,  and 
took  the  check.  The  cashier  saw  the  act,  and  wrote 
his  name  in  the  proper  place  on  the  deed. 

"Take  the  acknowledgment,"  said  Mr.  Checkyn- 
ehaw  to  the  cashier,  who  was  a  justice  of  the  peace. 

"You  acknowledge  this  to  be  your  free  act  and 
deed,  Mrs.  Wittleworth  ?"  added  Burnet. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  227 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  poor  woman,  or  rather  the  rich 
one  now,  in  the  most  decided  manner. 

"  Have  it  recorded,"  continued  the  banker ;  and 
the  cashier  left  the  room  with  the  deed  in  his  hand. 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw,"  said  Mrs.  Wittleworth.  "  You  have  been  very 
kind  and  very  liberal  to  me." 

"  Liberal ! "  sneered  Fitz.  "  He  has  given  you  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  a  hundred  thousand.  It's  the 
best  trade  he  ever  made." 

"  Ellen,  I  am  glad  you  are  satisfied  with  what  you 
have  done.  I  give  you  the  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
the  reason  I  stated  yesterday  —  not  because  you  had 
any  claim  upon  me." 

"  I  know  you  did,  sir ;  and  I  am  very  grateful  to 
you,"  replied  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"After  what  I  have  done,  it  is  not  right  that  I 
should  be  annoyed  by  your  son,"  added  the  banker. 

"  He  shall  not  annoy  you  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  That's  enough,  Ellen.  I  forbid  his  coming  here 
again  on  any  pretence  whatever." 

"You  needn't  trouble  yourself,"  replied  Fitz.  "I 
shall  not  come  near  you  again  if  I  can  help  it.  I 
am  rather  particular  about  my  associates." 


228  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

Mrs.  Wittleworth  left  the  office,  followed  by  Fit& 
The  fact  that  his  mother  had  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
her  pocket  did  not  seem  to  comfort  him.  He  offered 
to  draw  the  check  for  her,  but  his  mother  preferred 
to  transact  her  own  business.  She  presented  the 
check  at  the  bank  upon  which  it  was  drawn,  and 
deposited  the  money  at  another.  She  went  home 
with  a  light  heart,  feeling  that  the  wolf  was  slain, 
and  that  she  was  secured  against  grim  want  for  the 
rest  of  her  life. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  smiled  when  Mrs.  Wittleworth 
had  gone.  Perhaps,  as  Fitz  suggested,  he  felt  that 
he  had  made  a  good  trade.  Apparently  he  had  dis 
posed  of  the  only  person  who  had  the  power  to  an 
noy  him. 

No  one  did  annoy  him.  Coi.i  cable  Clapp  came 
back  from  New  York;  but  Le  brought  no  tidings 
of  Pilky  Wayne.  The  banker  offered  a  reward  of 
Ive  hundred  dollars  for  his  valuable  papers ;  but 
iveek  after  week  passed  away,  and  nothing  was  heard 
of  them.  The  banker  concluded  that  the  rogue  had 
burned  them,  so  that  no  clew  should  be  had  to  him. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  229 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FIVE    HUNDRED    DOLLARS     REWARD. 

LEO  worked  till  a  late  hour  in  the  night,  on  the 
day  that  he  received  the  orders  for  the  two 
mouse-houses^  At  eleven  o'clock  Maggie  went  down 
to  the  shop,  and  entreated  him  not  to  wear  himself 
out.  Very  likely  he  would  have  worked  all  night 
if  her  friendly  warning  had  not  sent  him  to  bed. 
The  next  day  he  stuck  to  his  bench  till  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening. 

On  Saturday  afternoon  the  two  houses  were  fin 
ished,  and  put  up  at  the  residences  of  those  who  had 
ordered  them.  His  wildest  dream  had  been  more 
than  realized,  and  there  was  more  money  in  the 
house  over  Sunday  than  there  had  ever  been  before. 
The  prospect  was  still  hopeful  for  the  future.  The 
good  physician  had  kept  his  promise,  and  Leo  had 
orders  enough  to  keep  him  at  work  for  two  weeks. 
He  finished  the  four  small  houses,  and  disposed  of 


230  MAKE    OE    BREAK,    OR 

them  at  two  dollars  apiece,  and  two  like  that  sold 
to  the  banker  at  six  dollars  apiece,  during  the  coming 
week;  and  this  made  twenty  dollars. 

This  extraordinary  run .  of  good  fortune,  however, 
did  not  continue  long;  for,  during  the  third  week, 
he  sold  but  twelve  dollars'  worth  of  his  merchandise, 
and  the  stock  was  accumulating  on  his  hands.  At 
the  end  of  the  fourth  week  he  had  six  houses  unsold ; 
but  the  average  proceeds  of  his  sales  had  been  over 
fifteen  dollars  a  week. 

Leo  was  enterprising,  and  with  some  of  his  funds 
he  purchased  half  a  dozen  pairs  of  rabbits,  and  en 
larged  the  sphere  of  his  business.  He  built  very 
tasty  houses  for  each  pair  of  these  animals,  with  wire 
netting  in  front,  so  that  they  could  be  seen.  They 
were  provided  with  proper  nests,  with  conveniences 
for  keeping  them  clean.  These  establishments  found 
a  ready  sale,  at  remunerative  prices  for  the  rabbits 
and  the  work. 

Then  he  enlarged  the  business  still  further,  adding 
guinea  pigs  and  doves  to  his  stock,  till  the  basement 
of  the  house  became  a  menagerie  of  pets.  The  dove- 
houses  were  made  to  be  placed  on  sheds,  or  fastened 


THE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  231 

to  the  sides  of  buildings,  generally  in  front  of  back 
attic  windows,  where  they  could  be  readily  reached. 
The  good  doctor,  the  banker,  and  his  other  customers 
had  thoroughly  advertised  his  business  for  him,  and 
purchasers  came  every  day  to  see  his  merchandise. 
He  was  continually  inventing  new  patterns  for  houses, 
and  could  now  keep  a  variety  of  them  on  hand,  to 
enable  those  who  patronized  him  to  select  for  them 
selves. 

Leo  Maggirnore  worked  very  hard  ;  but  his  business 
was  profitable,  and  he  had  every  encouragement  to 
persevere.  His  net  proceeds  were  generally  twenty 
dollars  a  week ;  and,  after  paying  for  lumber,  hard 
ware,  glass,  and  wire  netting,  his  average  gains  were 
fully  up  to  the  standard  he  had  fixed.  Perhaps  the 
young  mechanic  did  not  realize  the  fact,  but  it  was 
none  the  less  true,  that  he  was  largely  indebted  to 
powerful  friends  for  the  extensive  sales  he  made. 
Probably  many  persons  bought  his  wares  solely  for 
the  purpose  of  assisting  him  in  his  self-imposed  task 
of  maintaining  the  family.  Dr.  Fisher,  while  attend 
ing  the  barber,  stated  the  case  to  at  least  a  hundred 
of  his  patients  and  friends. 


232  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

The  spring  came,  and  Leo's  business  was  as  good 
as  ever.  He  was  making  his  fifteen  dollars  a  week 
right  along,  to  which  Maggie  sometimes  added  two 
or  three  more.  All  this  time  Andre  had  been 
steadily  improving.  He  was  now  able  to  go  out 
every  day,  and  had  almost  recovered  the  use  of  his 
limbs.  He  was  not  yet  in  condition  to  use  a  razor, 
which  requires  a  very  steady  and  delicate  hand ; 
but  he  was  able  to  do  a  great  deal  of  work  about 
the  house.  He  helped  Leo,  and  became  general 
salesman  for  all  his  merchandise.  The  affairs  of  the 
family  had  been  improving  from  the  very  day  that 
Andre  was  stricken  down  by  his  malady.  The  only 
misfortune  over  which  they  mourned  was,  that  the 
young  mechanic  had  been  taken  out  of  school. 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  when  the  barber  felt 
quite  able  to  go  to  work,  —  and  Cutts  &  Stropmore 
were  very  anxious  to  have  him  do  so,  —  the  family 
were  never  in  a  more  prosperous  condition.  There 
was  actually  about  a  hundred  dollars  in  the  exche 
quer,  though  Dr.  Fisher's  bill  had  not  been  paid ; 
but  they  need  not  have  troubled  themselves  about 
that,  for  the  physician  would  no  more  have  carried 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  233 

in  a  bill  than  he  would  have  cheated  one  of  his 
neighbors;  and  that  was  quite  impossible  for  him 
to  do. 

Leo  went  up  to  see  the  master  of  the  school  as 
soon  as  his  father  was  able  to  go  to  work ;  and  it  was 
decided  that  he  should  immediately  resume  his  place. 
The  teacher  was  confident  that,  with  extra  study,  it 
was  still  possible  for  him  to  obtain  the  medal.  Leo 
went  to  work  upon  his  studies  with  the  same  energy 
and  determination  he  had  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
mouse  business. 

"  Make  or  break ! "  said  he ;  "I  will  catch  up  with 
my  class." 

Of  course  he  succeeded,  though  between  the  shop 
and  the  books  he  had  nearly  "  broken ; "  for  there 
was  still  a  demand  for  mice,  doves,  rabbits,  and 
guinea  pigs,  and  he  added  several  dollars  a  week 
to  the  income  of  his  father.  He  worked  too  hard  ; 
and  Maggie,  seeing  that  he  was  likely  to  "  break," 
took  upon  herself  the  care  of  the  menagerie  and  the 
sales,  in  addition  to  the  housework,  which  was  really 
quite  enough  for  a  girl  of  fifteen. 

Maggie  was  a  good  housekeeper.     Mindful  of  the 


234  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

traditions  of  the  elders,  as  the  spring  came  on 
she  commenced  the  semiannual  operation  of  house- 
cleaning.  She  went  through  the  performance  in  the 
front  room  first,  and  then  devoted  herself  to  the 
chamber  over  it,  which  was  Leo's  room.  According 
to  her  custom  she  took  everything  out  of  the  closets, 
bureau,  chest,  and  table  drawers.  In  the  course  of 
this  ceremonial  she  came  to  the  chest  in  which  Leo 
kept  his  clothes. 

At  the  bottom  she  found  the  papers  deposited 
there  by  "Mr.  Hart,"  or  possibly  Pilky  Wayne,  for 
it  was  not  certainly  known  who  committed  the  rob 
bery.  There  was  quite  a  large  bundle  of  them ;  and 
Maggie,  inheriting  the  propensity  of  Mother  Eve, 
was,  of  course,  anxious  to  know  what  they  were. 
She  laid  them  on  the  table  with  other  articles,  and 
then  opened  one  of  them.  She  saw  the  name  of 
Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

She  was  terrified  when  she  remembered  that  the 
banker's  safe  had  been  robbed,  and  that  Mr.  Check 
ynshaw  had  come  to  the  house  with  the  detective 
to  see  about  it.  She  was  not  quite  sure  of  the  fact, 
but  it  seemed  to  her  that  Leo  had  been  suspected 


THE    KICH   MAM'S    DAUGHTER.  235 

of  being  concerned  in  the  robbery.  Here  were  the 
valuable  papers,  hidden  away  very  carefully  at  the 
bottom  of  Leo's  chest.  They  must  have  been  there 
at  least  three  months,  and  of  course  her  brother 
knew  they  were  there. 

The  longer  she  considered  the  matter,  the  more 
terrified  she  became.  It  was  awful  to  think  that 
Leo  had  been  concerned  in  a  robbery.  She  was  not 
willing  to  believe  it.  If  there  were  any  good  boys 
in  the  world,  Leo  was  one  of  them.  He  would  cut 
his  right  hand  off  before  he  would  do  a  wicked  thing. 
It  was  impossible  for  her  to  charge  the  dear  fellow 
with  anything  that  looked  like  a  crime. 

She  turned  the  papers  over  again.  They  were 
strange  documents  to  her,  with  great  seals  on  them, 
and  no  end  of  legal  phrases.  Perhaps,  after  all,  they 
were  not  good  for  anything.  They  could  not  be  the 
papers  which  Mr.  Checkynshaw  had  lost.  Probably 
they  were  some  old  and  useless  documents,  which 
the  banker  had  thrown  away  when  they  were  of  no 
further  consequence.  It  was  quite  likely  that  Leo, 
who  was  always  studying  up  methods  of  doing  busi 
ness,  had  saved  them  from  the  dirt  barrels  in  the 


236  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

streets,  so  as  to  learn  the  forms  of  making  out  such 
papers. 

This  explanation  was  not  quite  satisfactory,  though 
it  was  plausible,  to  her.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning  when  she  found  the  papers.  Leo 
had  gone  to  school,  and  her  father  would  not  return 
till  night.  She  was  so  impatient  to  know  whether 
the  documents  were  of  any  value  or  not,  that  she 
was  unwilling  to  wait  till  noon.  At  first  she  thought 
she  would  take  them  up  to  Mr.  Checkynshaw  him 
self,  and  ask  him  if  they  were  good  for  anything; 
but  she  did  not  exactly  like  to  do  that. 

Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  Fitz  Wittleworth, 
who  had  been  a  clerk  for  the  banker,  could  tell  her 
just  as  well  as  his  late  employer,  and  he  lived  only 
a  short  distance  from  Phillimore  Court.  Mrs.  Wit 
tleworth,  with  a  portion  of  the  money  received  from 
the  banker,  had  purchased  a  small  house  near  her 
former  residence.  Fitz  had  not  yet  found  another 
place,  and  probably  both  he  and  his  mother  would 
have  come  to  want  before  this  time,  if  she  had  taken 
his  advice.  Maggie  went  to  the  front  door,  and 
called  Tom  Casey,  whom  she  had  seen  in  the  court 
from  the  window. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  237 

Tom  was  one  of  the  gallantest  young  Irishmen  in 
the  city.  He  was  a  fast  friend  of  Leo,  and  spent 
much  time  in  the  shop  with  him.  Tom  made  no 
mental  reservation  when  he  declared  that  Maggie 
was  the  "  purtiest  guii  in  the  wurruld ; "  and  he  was 
only  too  happy  to  oblige  her  when  she  asked  him 
to  request  Fitz  to  step  in  and  see  her  for  a  moment. 
In  ten  minutes  Mr.  Wittleworth  made  his  appear 
ance,  as  grand  as  ever,  for  three  months'  idleness  had 
not  taken  any  of  the  starch  out  of  him. 

Maggie  showed  him  the  papers  with  fear  and 
trembling.  Fitz  rubbed  his  chin,  and  pursed  his 
lips,  as  he  examined  them,  looked  wise,  and  finally, 
after  much  sage  deliberation,  declared  that  the  papers 
were  of  the  utmost  importance. 

"  O,  dear !  "  groaned  poor  Maggie. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Maggimore  ? "  de 
manded  Mr.  Wittleworth. 

"  What  shall  I  do !  How  came  those  papers  in 
my  brother's  chest  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,  Miss  Maggimore.  I  can 
only  say  that  the  papers  are  very  valuable,  and  that 
Checkynshaw  offered  a  reward  for  them.  Now  I 


238  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

remember!  Your  brother  was  with  the  man  that 
robbed  the  safe." 

"That's  what  troubles  me,"  gasped  poor  Maggie. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  Miss  Maggimore.  It  is  very 
fortunate  that  you  called  me  to  attend  to  this  deli 
cate  business.  If  you  had  not  done  so,  they  might 
have  thrown  your  brother  into  jail.  Checkynshaw 
has  no  more  consideration  for  a  young  man  than  a 
mule,"  said  Fitz,  patronizingly.  "  Leave  it  all  to  me, 
Miss  Maggimore.  I  will  see  that  the  papers  are 
restored  to  the  owner,  and  that  no  harm  comes 
to  Leo." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  replied  Maggie,  hopefully. 

"I  am  always  glad  to  do  what  I  can  for  those 
who  are  in  need  of  assistance.  It"  is  fortunate  you 
called  me  in.  It  will  be  best  for  you  not  to  men 
tion  to  any  one  that  I  have  taken  them." 

Maggie  thought  so  too,  and  she  was  very  glad  to 
have  her  visitor  take  the  papers  away  from  the 
house.  She  felt  as  though  a  contagious  disease  had 
been  removed  as  soon  as  the  door  closed  behind 
Fitz.  Was  it  possible  that  Leo  had  been  concerned 
in  the  robbery  ?  If  so,  sooner  or  later  he  would 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  239 

ask  what  had  become  of  the  papers.  The  man  that 
stole  the  papers  had  come  to  the  house  with  Leo, 
she  then  called  to  mind  for  the  first  time ;  but  her 
thoughts  were  confused,  and  instead  of  this  circum 
stance  affording  a  satisfactory  explanation  to  her  of 
the  presence  of  the  package  in  Leo's  chest,  it  had 
just  the  opposite  effect. 

Fitz  Wittleworth  went  home  with  the  papers  ; 
went  up  to  his  room  with  them  ;  examined  every 
document  in  the  bundle.  There  was  a  copy  of  his 
grandfather's  will  among  them,  but  nothing  else  re 
lating  to  the  block  of  stores,  and  nothing  which 
related  to  Marguerite  —  not  even  the  letters  which 
Mr.  Checkynshaw  had  declared  were  stolen  with  the 
papers. 

Mr.  Wittleworth  went  up  to  the  banker's  office. 
He  was  civil,  and  Mr.  Checkynshaw  asked  him, 
very  sternly,  what  he  wanted. 

"  You  offered  a  reward  of  five  hundred  dollars  for 
the  recovery  of  the  papers  taken  from  your  safe,  Mr. 
Checkynshaw,"  Fitz  began,  pompously. 

"I  did." 

"I  claim  it." 


240  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  The  money  is  ready ;  where  are  the  papers  ?  " 
asked  the  banker,  promptly. 

"  I  have  them  here,"  replied  Fitz,  producing  the 
package. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  must  decline  to  answer,"  added 
Fitz,  decidedly. 

"Must  you?  Then  I  suppose  I  am  to  understand 
that  you  were  a  party  to  the  robbery,  as  I  have  sus 
pected  from  the  beginning." 

Mr.  Wittleworth  thought  this  was  a  very  unrea 
sonable  view  to  take  of  the  case.  He  decided  to 
leave,  and  conduct  the  negotiation  for  the  reward  in 
some  other  manner.  He  turned  to  go,  but  the  banker 
seized  him  by  the  collar  and  held  him. 

Mr.  Wittleworth  was  in  hot  water. 


THE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  241 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AN  AVALANCHE  OF  GOOD  FORTUNE. 

MR.   WITTLEWORTH    was    more    astonished 
than   he   had   ever   before    been    in    his    life. 
This  was  the  gratitude  of  great  men  !     Mr.  Checkyn- 
shaw  did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  rejoiced  to  find  his 
papers,  and   was  so   mean   as  to  send  for  Constable 


"  Didn't  you  offer  a  reward  of  five  hundred  dollars 
for  your  papers,  Mr.  Checkynshaw  ?  "  asked  Fitz. 

"I  did;  and  I  am  willing  to  pay  the  reward  the 
moment  you  have  explained  to  me  where  you  got 
them,"  replied  the  banker,  as  he  pitched  his  prisoner 
into  a  chair  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  officer. 

"  I  came  here  in  good  faith,  and  I  didn't  expect  to 
be  treated  in  this  -manner,"  growled  Mr.  Wittleworth. 

"I  am  not  yet  willing  to  pay  you  for  stealing  my 
papers  and  money,  or  for  employing  another  person  to 
do  it  for  you,"  added  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  dryly. 
16 


242  MAKE    OB   BREAK,    OB 

"I  did  not  steal  them." 

"  Then  you  cannot  object  to  telling  me  where  you 
obtained  them." 

Mr.  Wittleworth  did  object.  He  had  undertaken 
to  manage  this  business,  and  he  expected  to  make 
at  least  a  commission  out  of  it.  His  plan  was  to 
pay  Maggie  fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars  of  the  reward, 
and  keep  the  rest  himself.  It  was  not  probable  that 
the  barber,  —  who  was  ill  at  the  time,  —  or  his  fam 
ily,  had  read  the  newspapers,  and  it  was  not  likely 
that  they  knew  anything  about  the  reward.  Maggie, 
or  even  Leo,  would  be  entirely  satisfied  with  the  fifty 
dollars,  and  ought  to  be  exceedingly  obliged  to  him 
for  managing  the  matter  so  well  for  them. 

Constable  Clapp  arrived  in  a  few  moments,  and 
the  case  was  stated  to  him. 

*'  How  much  money  was  stolen  with  the  papers  V  " 
asked  the  officer. 

"About  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"  replied 
the  banker. 

"  Very  well ;  if  this  young  gentleman  will  restore 
the  papers  and  the  money,  he  may  take  the  reward ; 
and  then  we  shall  be  ready  to  attend  to  the  criminal 


THE    KICK    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  243 

charge.  That  will  make  a  balance  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  in  his  favor,"  chuckled  the  officer. 

"  I  am  entirely  willing  to  pay  the  reward  I  offered," 
added  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  magnanimously. 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  papers,  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth  ?  "  asked  the  detective. 

"I  didn't  steal  them." 

"I  don't  say  you  did.  Where  did  you  get  them, 
was  the  question  I  asked." 

"  Of  course  I  don't  wish  to  expose  anybody.  They 
came  into  my  possession  in  consequence  of  an  ac 
cident." 

"  Exactly  so ! "  said  the  officer,  taking  the  papers 
from  Fitz,  and  producing  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  "  In 
consequence  of  an  accident,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
put  these  irons  on  your  wrists,  and  take  you  over 
to  the  jail." 

"  Me ! "  gasped  Fitz,  the  iron  entering  his  lofty 
soul.  "  I  should  like  to  know  what  my  friend  Choate 
would  say  to  that !  " 

"  In  one  word,  will  you  wear  the  bracelets,  or  will 
you  tell  where  you  obtained  the  papers?  Of  course 
Mr.  Checkynshaw  will  pay  the  reward.  He  is  an 


244  MAKE    OB    BREAK,    OR 

• 

honorable  man,  and  does  all  he  agrees.  You  will 
want  the  money  to  pay  your  friend  Choate  for  keep 
ing  you  out  of  the  State  Prison.  What  will  you 
do?" 

Fitz  thought  for  a  moment.  The  disgrace  of  being 
marched  through  the  streets  by  a  person  so  well 
known  as  Mr.  Clapp,  and  with  a  pair  of  irons  on  his 
wrists,  was  intolerable  to  think  of,  and  he  decided 
to  inform  the  officer  where  he  had  obtained  the 
papers.  He  then  related  the  particulars  of  his  inter 
view  with  Maggie. 

"  Then  you  did  not  find  the  papers  yourself?  "  said 
Mr.  Checkynshaw,  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  for  it  would 
have  galled  him  sorely  to  pay  the  five  hundred  dol 
lars  to  one  he  disliked  so  much. 

"I  did  not,"  replied  Fitz. 

"Then  the  reward  does  not  belong  to  you." 

"It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  say  that  I  was 
doing  the  business  for  Miss  Maggimore." 

"  But  it  was  hardly  necessary  for  you  to  conceal 
her  name." 

The  banker  was  really  overjoyed  to  find  his  papers, 
and  at  once  drew  a  check  for  the  amount  which  be 
had  offered  as  a  reward. 


THE    KICK    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  245 

"  We  will  go  down  and  see  Maggie,"  said  the 
banker,  putting  the  check  into  his  pocket. 

"  I  think  the  case  is  plain  enough,"  added  the  con 
stable.  "  When  I  ascertain  where  the  papers  were 
found,  I  shall  be  better  satisfied." 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  called  a  carriage,  and  they  went 
to  Phillimore  Court.  No  further  notice  was  taken 
of  Mr.  Wittle  worth  ;  in  fact  he  was  utterly  ignored 
from  the  moment  he  had  told  his  story.  He  was 
permitted  to  depart  in  peace.  He  did  depart,  but  not 
in  peace ;  for  he  was  not  entirely  satisfied.  The  re 
ward  ought  to  have  been  paid  to  him,  and  he  should 
have  had  the  lion's  share  of  it.  This  was  his  feeling 
as  he  retired  from  the  office. 

Maggie  was  fearfully  frightened  when  she  saw  the 
banker  and  the  constable.  The  roses  fled  from  her 
cheek,  and  she  was  pale  and  trembling.  That  awful 
officer  had  come  to  bear  Leo  away  to  the  jail.  She 
was  almost  sorry  that  she  had  not  burned  the  papers, 
instead  of  sending  them  back  to  the  owner. 

"  You  have  come  for  poor  Leo ! "  exclaimed  she, 
in  terror,  when  she  opened  the  door. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Maggie,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw, 


246  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

in  a  tone  which  was  gentle  for  him.  "  We  come  to 
inquire  about  those  papers  you  found." 

"  I  knew  you  did ! "  gasped  Maggie  in  despair,  as 
the  two  gentlemen  followed  her  into  the  rear  room. 

"  Where  did  you  find  them  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Clapp,  in 
a  gentler  tone  than  the  banker  could  speak. 

"  In  Leo's  room,"  stammered  she.  "  I  must  tell 
the  truth  ;  but  I  hope  you  won't  harm  poor  Leo." 

"Will  you  show  us  just  where  you  found  them?" 

"I  will,  if  you  will  come  up  stairs,"  she  added, 
leading  the  way.  "You  won't  put  poor  Leo  in  jail 
—  will  you?  I'm  sure  he  didn't  intend  to  do  any 
wrong." 

"I  don't  think  he  did,"  replied  the  officer,  moved 
by  the  distress  of  the  poor  girl. 

"  I  found  them  at  the  bottom  of  Leo's  chest,"  said 
Maggie,  as  she  pointed  to  the  place  where  she  had 
discovered  them.  "I  was  cleaning  house,  and  I 
cleared  out  all  the  closets  and  drawers.  I  took  all 
Leo's  things  out  of  his  chest,  and  I  found  those  pa 
pers  under  his  summer  clothes." 

"  Did  Leo  know  they  were  there  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  whether  he  did  or  not.     I 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  247 

don't  believe  he  did.  He  never  stays  in  his  room 
only  when  he  is  asleep.  All  the  clothes  he  wears  in 
the  winter  are  in  the  top  of  the  chest." 

"  I  looked  into  that  chest  when  I  searched  the 
room  on  the  day  the  safe  was  robbed,"  added  the 
officer.  "  I  put  my  hand  down  into  the  clothing ;  but 
I  suppose  I  didn't  reach  the  bottom.  Where  is  Leo 
now  ?  " 

"He  is  at  school." 

"  Can  you  send  for  him  ? " 

"You  won't  take  him  up  —  will  you?  It  would 
break  his  heart,"  pleaded  Maggie. 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  be  necessary  to  arrest  him," 
replied  the  constable,  rather  cautiously.  "  The  man 
that  stole  the  papers  came  to  this  room,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  he  put  them  there  to  get  rid  of  them." 

"  Send  for  Leo ;  I  will  promise  you  he  shall  not 
be  taken  up,"  added  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  taking  the 
responsibility  upon  himself. 

Maggie  wrote  a  note,  and  sent  Tom  Casey  to  the 
school  with  it,  the  gentlemen  having  taken  seats  io 
the  front  parlor.  In  a  short  time  Leo  appeared,  trem 
bling  lest  his  father  had  had  another  attack  of  paralysis, 


248  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OK 

He  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  the  banker  and 
the  constable  awating  his  arrival. 

"  Leo,  what  do  you  keep  in  that  chest  of  yours,  up 
in  your  room?"  asked  the  officer. 

"My  clothes,  sir,"  replied  Leo,  astonished  at  the 
strange  question. 

"What  else?" 

"Nothing  else." 

"  Don't  you  keep  any  white  mice  in  it  ?  "  said  the 
constable,  smiling. 

«No,  sir." 

"Don't  your  mice  get  out  of  their  houses  down 
ptairs,  and  come  up  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  twro  or  three  of  them  in  the  kitchen.' 

"  But  don't  they  go  up  in  your  chamber  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  any  up  there,"  answered  Leo,  puzzled 
by  these  singular  inquiries. 

"  What  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  that  a  couple 
of  them  had  made  a  nest  in  your  chest  up  stairs,  and 
had  a  litter  of  little  ones  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  say.  I  don't  know 
that  it  would  be  very  strange." 

"Should  you  deny  it?" 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  249 

"  If  you  saw  them  there  I  should  not,  though  1 
don't  see  how  they  could  get  into  the  chest.  The 
lid  is  always  closed." 

"  But  you  might  have  left  the  lid  up  some  morn 
ing,  and  the  mice  might  have  crawled  down  to  the 
very  bottom  of  the  chest,  and  had  a  family  there. 
Could  this  have  happened  ?  " 

"  It  could ;  but  I  don't  think  it  is  very  likely  it  did 
happen." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  should  have  smelt  them,"  laughed  Leo. 

"  Shouldn't  you  have  seen  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  should.  Maggie  puts  my  shirts 
and  stockings  at  the  top  of  the  chest,  and  I  hardly 
know  what  there  is  at  the  bottom.  She  takes  care 
of  my  things." 

"Is  there  anything  in  that  chest  besides  your 
clothes  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  there  is  a  piece  of  brass  chain,  a 
ball,  some  marbles,  and  a  top  in  the  till." 

"Anything  else?" 

"  There  may  be  some  other  things  of  that  sort  in 
the  till.  I  don't  remember ;  if  you  want  to  know  I 
will  go  up  and  show  you." 


250  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"  Are  there  any  papers  there  ?  "  demanded  the  con 
stable,  sharply. 

"  Yes,  sir,  there  are  two  or  three  newspapers." 

"  Any  written  papers  ?  " 

"  Not  a  paper." 

"  Have  you  had  any  papers  there  at  any  time  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  don't  remember  that  I  ever  did.  I 
keep  my  papers  in  the  table  drawer  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Didn't  you  know  there  was  a  package  of  papers 
in  the  chest  —  such  as  bonds,  deeds,  and  notes  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  didn't  know  it.  I  never  saw  anything 
of  the  kind  there,"  replied  Leo,  still  puzzled,  but  sat 
isfied  now  that  something  serious  had  happened. 

"  Have  you  overhauled  the  contents  of  your  chest 
lately  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  not  since  last  summer,  that  I  remember." 

"Leo,  in  your  chest  were  found  the  papers  which 
Mr.  Checkynshaw  lost." 

"Then  that  Mr.  Hart,  or  whatever  his  name  was, 
put  them  there ! "  exclaimed  Leo,  his  face  turning 
red.  "I  never  saw  them,  and  didn't  know  they 
were  there." 

"I  am  satisfied,"  interposed  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  251 

"So  am  I,"  added  Mr.  Clapp. 

The  truth  as  it  was  had  been  correctly  discerned. 

"Maggie,  I  offered  a  reward  of  five  hundred  dollars 
for  those  papers,"  continued  the  banker.  "  I  would 
have  given  five  thousand  rather  than  not  have  had 
them." 

"  Then  I  am  very  glad  you  have  found  them,"  re 
plied  the  fair  girl,  now  entirely  relieved  of  all  her 
fears  on  account  of  her  brother. 

"  But  you  found  them,  Maggie,  and  you  are 
entitled  to  the  reward.  Here  is  my  check  for  the 
amount.  Your  father  can  draw  the  money  for 
you." 

"  I  don't  deserve  the  reward  ! "  exclaimed  Maggie, 
blushing  deeply,  as  she  took  the  check.  "  It  is  re 
ward  enough  for  me  to  find  that  Leo  is  as  good  as  I 
always  believed  him  to  be." 

"  You  found  the  papers,  and  I  am  indebted  to  you 
for  their  preservation.  Another  might  have  destroyed 
them." 

"  But  I  only  took  them  out  of  the  chest.  I  didn't 
know  what  they  were.  I  almost  made  up  my  mind 
that  they  were  good  for  nothing,  and  that  Leo  had 


252  "   MAKK    OE    BREAK,    OR 

saved  them  from  the  dirt  barrels  to  learn  how  to 
write  such  papers  from.  I  didn't  know  what  to 
do,  and  I  sent  for  Mr.  Wittleworth  to  tell  me 
whether  they  were  good  for  anything  or  not.  He 
said  they  were  very  valuable,  and  told  me  it  was 
fortunate  I  sent  for  him,  and  then  kindly  undertook 
to  return  them  to  you." 

"  Very  kindly ! "  sneered  the  banker.  "  He  claimed 
this  reward." 

"He  did?" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  am  very  glad  it  goes  to  you,  instead 
of  to  him." 

Maggie  objected  to  taking  such  a  vast  sum  of 
money  for  so  slight  a  service  ;  but  Mr.  Checkynshaw's 
mandate  was  imperative,  and  he  departed,  leaving 
her  bewildered  at  the  sudden  fortune  which  had 
come  down  like  an  avalanche  upon  her.  Leo  went 
back  to  school,  as  delighted  at  her  good  luck  as 
his  own  in  finding  himself  entirely  freed  from  the 
charge  of  being  concerned  in  the  robbery. 

As  usual,  Mr.  Wittleworth  was  the  only  person 
who  was  not  satisfied.  He  had  again  been  "  left 
out  in  the  cold."  He  wanted  to  know  what  had 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  253 

happened  at  the  house  of  Andre,  and  after  dinner 
he  called  there;  but  Maggie  had  gone  to  the  bar 
ber's  shop  with  her  father's  noonday  meal,  and  he 
found  the  door  locked.  In  the  evening  he  went 
again,  when  both  Andre  and  Leo  were  at  home. 


264  MAKE    OE    BREAK,    CE 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ME.  WITTLEWOETH'S  WEOXGS. 

MAGGIE,  fluttering  with  delight,  had  taken  Mr. 
Checkynshaw's  check  to  her  father  when  she 
carried  his  dinner.  The  barber  was  astonished  as 
well  as  pleased  with  the  gift,  and,  having  drawn  the 
check,  deposited  the  money  in  the  Savings  Bank,  as 
a  provision  for  dark  days,  like  those  through  which 
they  had  passed  at  the  beginning  of  Andre's  illness. 
After  supper  the  family  gathered  around  the  cook 
ing-stove  in  the  kitchen.  Never  before  had  they 
been  so  happy  as  now,  and  never  before  were  they 
so  strongly  attached  to  each  other.  They  had  passed 
through  the  storm  of  privation  and  trial  —  they  had 
triumphed  over  adverse  circumstances.  Leo  tried  to 
study  his  lesson,  while  Andre  and  Maggie  were  talk 
ing  about  the  great  event  of  the  day,  and  comparing 
their  present  situation  with  the  first  days  of  the  bar 
ber's  illness,  when  all  of  them  were  trembling  for  the 
future. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  255 

"  God  has  been  very  good  to  us,  my  children,  and 
i  hope  we  shall  always  be  grateful  to  him  for  his 
mercies,"  said  Andre,  as  a  tear,  which  he  could  not 
repress,  stole  down  his  pale  cheek. 

"  I'm  sure  I  never  felt  so  good  before  in  my  life ; 
and  I  know  my  prayers  mean  more  to  me  now  than 
ever  before,"  replied  Maggie. 

"  We  have  been  faithful  to  each  other,  and  God 
has  been  faithful  to  all  of  us,  as  he  always  is,  even 
when  we  forsake  and  forget  him." 

"  Ah,  mon  pere,  how  could  we  help  being  faithful 
to  you,  when  you  were  always  so  kind  to  us ! "  ex 
claimed  Maggie,  as  she  rested  her  hand  on  Andre's 
arm.  "And  Leo  —  he  has  really  been  a  lion!  You 
don't  know  how  brave  he  was ;  how  he  worked,  and 
how  he  persevered !  It  was  all  make^  and  no  break 
—  wan't  it,  Leo?" 

"  It  has  been,  so  far,"  replied  Leo,  less  demonstra 
tive,  but  not  less  delighted  than  the  other  members 
of  the  family.  "  I  think  we  can  do  anything  we 
make  up  our  minds  to  do.  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  take  the  Franklin  medal  this  year,  and,  make  01 
break,  I'm  going  to  do  it." 


256  MAKE    OK   EKEAK,    OK 

Leo  bent  over  his  slate  again,  and  seemed  to  l»e 
determined,  make  or  break,  that  he  would  attend  to 
his  lessons,  whatever  happened  in  the  room.  Unfor 
tunately,  in  this  instance,  it  was  at  least  a  partial 
break,  for  a  very  imperative  knock  was  heard  a  few 
moments  later  at  the  front  door.  Andre  answered 
the  summons,  and  admitted  Mr.  Wittleworth. 

"I  hope  I  don't  intrude,"  said  Fitz,  as  daintily  as 
Paul  Pry  himself  could  have  said  it. 

"Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Wittleworth,''  added  Maggie, 
giving  him  a  chair  at  the  stove. 

"Thank  you.  I  don't  often  go  out  evenings,  for 
mother  is  alone.  My  friends  groan  and  complain  be 
cause  I  don't  visit  them ;  but  really  this  is  the  first 
time  I  have  been  out  of  the  house  of  an  evening  for 
a  month,"  continued  Mr.  Wittleworth,  as  he  seated 
himself  in  the  offered  chair,  expecting  the  barber's 
family  to  appreciate  his  condescension  in  this  particu 
lar  instance. 

"The  last  time  I  went  out  of  an  evening,"  he 
added,  "  I  called  on  my  friend  Choate  —  you  know 
Choate?  Of  course  you  do,  Mr.  Maggimore." 

"  I  have  not  that  honor,"  replied  the  barber,  mod 
estly. 


1HE    EICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  257 

"Choate's  a  good  fellow — Choate  is.  He  is  the 
most  gentlemanly  person  I  ever  met,  not  even  except 
ing  Everett,  who,  by  the  way,  was  at  Choate's  when 
I  called  upon  him.  Winthrop  was  there,  too ;  but 
Winthrop  is  rather  stiff — Winthrop  is.  Of  course  I 
haven't  anything  to  say  against  Winthrop.  He  is  a 
great  man,  talented,  a  good  speaker,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing ;  but  you  see  he  hasn't  that  companionable 
way  with  him  that  Choate  has.  Of  course  you  will 
not  mention  what  I  say  to  Winthrop,  for  I  don't 
want  him  to  know  but  what  I  think  as  much  of  him 
as  I  do  of  Choate  or  Everett." 

Andre  very  kindly  promised  not  to  mention  any 
disparaging  allusion  he  might  make  in  regard  to  the 
honorable  gentleman. 

"  In  a  private  conversation  one  does  not  like  to  be 
held  responsible  for  remarks  dropped  without  much 
reflection,"  continued  Fitz.  "I  have  nothing  against 
Winthrop,  only  he  is  not  just  like  Choate.  Choate 
is  my  idea  of  a  perfect  gentleman  —  Choate  is.  But 
perhaps  I  am  prejudiced  in  Choate's  favor.  I  used 
to  be  in  the  law  business  myself —  in  the  same  office 
with  Choate.  Well,  really,  I  didn't  come  here  to 
17 


258  MAKE    OK   BREAK,    OR 

talk  about  Choate,  or  any  of  the  rest  of  my  friends. 
Isn't  it  singular  how  a  light  remark,  casually  dropped, 
leads  us  off  into  a  conversation  which  occupies  a  whole 
evening  ?  " 

Andre  acknowledged  that  it  was  singular  how  a 
light  remark,  casually  dropped,  leads  us  into  a  con 
versation  which  occupies  a  whole  evening;  but  he 
hoped  no  light  remark  of  Mr.  Wittleworth  would  be 
expanded  to  that  extent,  for  his  room  was  better  than 
his  company,  now  that  the  family  were  at  the  high 
tide  of  happiness  and  prosperity. 

"  I  suppose  Miss  Maggimore  has  informed  you  that 
she  sent  for  me  this  morning,  in  order  to  obtain  the 
benefit  of  my  advice,"  continued  Fitz. 

"Yes,  sir,  she  did,"  replied  Andre. 

"The  case  was  rather  a  singular  one;  and  being 
alone,  she  needed  the  counsel  of  some  person  of  expe 
rience,  and  of  extensive  knowledge.  She  sent  for  me, 
and  I  came,"  added  Mr.  Wittleworth,  rubbing  his  chin 
and  pouting  his  lips,  as  was  his  habit  when  his  bump 
of  self-esteem  was  rubbed ;  though  it  was  a  notable 
fact  that  he  always  rubbed  it  himself  nobody  else 
ever  appeared  to  do  so. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  259 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  come  when  I  sent  for  you," 
said  Maggie,  willing  to  give  him  all  the  credit  she 
could. 

"I  came;  I  saw  — "  but  he  did  not  conquer.  "I 
saw  the  papers,  and  I  undertook  to  manage  the  busi 
ness  for  Miss  Maggimore.  I  was  willing  to  give  her 
the  full  benefit  of  my  knowledge  and  experience, 
though  my  doing  so  came  very  near  involving  me 
in  a  painful  difficulty." 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  that,"  interposed  Maggie. 

"It  was  all  on  account  of  my  own  excessive  expen 
diture  of  good-nature.  I  wished  to  do  you  a  good 
turn,  and  Checkynshaw  a  good  turn.  So  far  as  Check- 
ynshaw  was  concerned,  it  was  a  mistake  ;  I  am  will 
ing  to  confess  that  it  was  a  blunder  on  my  part.  I 
confided  in  his  honor.  I  might  have  known  better, 
for  Checkynshaw  is  a  cur  —  Checkynshaw  is." 

Mr.  Wittleworth  slipped  lightly  over  the  "  painful 
difficulty"  in  which  he  was  so  nearly  involved.  He 
was  willing  to  give  Maggie  the  benefit  of  his  knowl 
edge  and  experience  in  negotiating  the  strictly  busi 
ness  matter  in  relation  to  the  reward  ;  but  Checkyn 
shaw  "basely  calumniated  him,  and  bit  the  hand  that 
was  extended  to  serve  him. 


260  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw  came  here,  with  the  constable, 
and  inquired  into  all  the  circumstances  attending  the 
finding  of  the  papers,"  said  Maggie,  tired  of  Mr.  "VVit- 
tleworth's  tedious  exordium.  "  He  was  entirely  satis 
fied  with  what  we  had  done." 

Maggie  then  explained  the  manner  in  which  the 
papers  had  come  into  Leo's  chest ;  that  they  were 
concealed  there  by  "  Pilky  Wayne." 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  very  good  and  very  kind," 
she  added,  with  enthusiasm. 

"Checkynshaw?"  exclaimed  Fitz,  incredulously. 

"He  was,  indeed." 

"Checkynshaw  don't  know  how  to  be  good  and 
kind  —  Checkynshaw  don't.  It  isn't  in  him." 

"  Indeed,  he  does ! "  protested  Maggie. 

"  So  he  does ! "  chimed  in  Leo,  who  was  very  grate 
ful  to  Mr.  Checkynshaw  for  buying  his  merchandise 
and  recommending  it  to  his  friends.  "  I  blow  for 
Checkynshaw ! " 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw  has  been  very  kind  to  us,  and 
we  feel  grateful  to  him  for  his  goodness,"  added  An 
dre,  in  his  mild,  silky-toned  voice. 

"I  know  Checkynshaw.     I've  summered   him   and 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  261 

wintered  him ;  and  you  have  to  summer  and  winter 
a  man  like  Checkynshaw  before  you  know  him.  My 
friend  Choate  knows  him.  Me  and  Choate  both  know 
him.  Checkynshaw  is  mean ;  Checkynshaw  has  a 
small  soul.  You  could  set  up  two  such  souls  as 
Checkynshaw's  on  the  point  of  a  cambric  needle,  and 
they  could  wander  about  till  the  end  of  time  with 
out  coining  within  hailing  distance  of  each  other." 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw  is  not  mean,"  replied  Maggie, 
her  pretty  face  red  with  excitement  and  indignation. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Maggimore,  but  you  don't  know 
him." 

"  I  think  I  do  know  him.  He  gave  me  the  reward 
of  five  hundred  dollars  for  returning  the  papers  to 
him,"  said  Maggie,  warmly ;  and  the  banker  might 
have  rejoiced  to  be  defended  by  so  fair  and  spirited 
an  advocate. 

"Checkynshaw!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Wittleworth,  spring 
ing  out  of  his  chair. 

About  the  same  instant  Leo  closed  his  book  sav 
agely,  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  manly  face  wearing 
a  decidedly  belligerent  look. 

"See  here,  Fitz;  you  have  said  just  about  enough," 


262  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

Leo  began,  both  fists  clinched.  "Mr.  Checkynshaw 
is  a  friend  of  ours,  and  we  are  not  going  to  sit  here 
and  have  him  abused." 

"  Don't  be  angry,  Leo ;  he  isn't  worth  minding," 
whispered  Maggie  in  his  ear. 

"  Then  he  gave  you  the  reward  ? "  added  Fitz,  sit 
ting  down  again. 

"He  did,"  replied  Maggie. 

"Well,  that  is  the  only  white  spot  on  the  general 
blackness  of  his  character." 

"No,  'tisn't!"  protested  Leo. 

"You  will  excuse  me,  Miss  Maggimore,  if  you  think 
I  speak  too  plainly ;  but  candor  is  one  of  the  attri 
butes  of  a  gentleman." 

"  It's  not  necessary  for  you  to  be  so  very  candid," 
suggested  Maggie. 

"  I  know  the  man,"  said  Fitz,  pompously.  "  Did  I 
ever  tell  you  how  he  treated  me  and  my  mother?  I 
never  did.  Well,  I  will." 

"Nobody  cares  how  he  treated  you  and  your  moth 
er,"  interposed  Leo. 

"Allow  me  to  contradict  you,  Leo.  I  care;  my 
mother  cares ;  and  every  person  who  loves  justice 
and  fairness  cares." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  2G3 

In  spite  of  several  very  pointed  hints  from  Andre, 
Maggie,  and  Leo,  that  they  did  not  care  to  bear  the 
story,  Fitz  persisted  in  telling  it,  and  did  tell  it.  He 
declared  it  was  his  solemn  conviction  that  Mr.  Check- 
ynshaw  had  wronged  his  mother  out  of  the  block  of 
stores,  and  ten  years'  income  of  the  same,  for  which 
he  had  paid  her  the  petty  consideration  of  ten  thou 
sand  dollars.  Fitz  had  heard  from  his  mother  the 
narrative  of  the  second  Mrs.  Checkynshaw's  sickness, 
and  of  the  sickness  of  little  Marguerite,  who  had  been 
taken  to  the  cholera  hospital ;  and  he  related  it  all  in 
the  most  painfully  minute  manner. 

"That  child  was  the  heir  of  my  grandfather's  prop 
erty,"  continued  Fitz,  eloquently ;  for  he  was  still 
burning  under  the  sense  of  his  own  wrongs.  "If 
that  child  died,  the  block  of  stores,  according  to  my 
grandfather's  will,  was  to  come  to  my  mother.  That 
child  did  die,  in  my  opinion." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Andre,  inter 
ested,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  the  story. 

"  What  makes  me  think  so  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth,  magnificently.  "Am  I  a  man  of  ordinary 
common  sense?  Have  I  lived  to  attain  my  present 


264  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

stature  without  growing  wiser  with  every  clay  of  lift 
I  lived  ?  Of  what  avail  are  my  judgment,  my  knowl 
edge,  and  my  experience,  if  I  cannot  penetrate  a  sham 
so  transparent  as  this?  What  makes  me  think  so? 
Does  a  man  of  wealth  and  influence  leave  his  own 
child  among  strangers,  in  a  foreign  land,  for  ten 
years?  No!  I  repeat  it,  no!" 

"You  say  the  child  was  sent  to  the  cholera  hospi 
tal?"  asked  Andre,  nervously. 

"She  was;   but  in  my  opinion  she  died  there." 

"O,  she  died  there  —  did  she?"  said  Andre,  with 
apparent  relief. 

"  Checkynshaw  says  she  did  not  die ;  I  say  she 
did." 

"  Why  should  he  say  she  didn't  die,  if  she  did 
die?"  inquired  Maggie,  very  innocently. 

"  Why  should  he  ?  Why,  indeed  ?  "  repeated  Fitz, 
amazed  at  her  obtuseness.  "Don't  you  see  that,  if 
the  child  died,  the  block  of  stores  belongs  to  my 
mother?  But  it  makes  no  difference  now,"  sighed 
Mr.  Wittleworth,  "for  my  mother,  contrary  to  my 
advice,  contrary  to  my  solemn  protest,  sold  out  all 
her  right  in  the  premises  for  a  mere  song." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  265 

"But  where  is  the  child  now?" 

"Dead!"  replied  Fitz,  in  a  sepulchral  tone. 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw  does  not  say  so,"  persisted  An 
dre.  "What  does  he  say  about  the  child?" 

"He  says  the  child  was  taken  by  the  Sisters  of 
Charity,  and  that  he  found  her  in  one  of  their  nun 
neries  or  schools ;  but  of  course  that  is  all  bosh." 

Mr.  Wittleworth  had  told  his  story,  and  having 
done  so,  he  tore  himself  away,  leaving  Andre  very 
thoughtful. 


266  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE    TWO    MARGUERITES. 

WHEN  Mr.  Wittleworth  passed  out  into  the 
street,  the  excitement  of  the  argument  sub 
sided.  He  felt  that  he  had  thoroughly  and  corn' 
pletely  demolished  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  and  that  noth 
ing  more  could  be  said  in  the  banker's  favor  after 
what  he  had  said  against  him.  The  great  man  need 
not  attempt  to  hold  up  his  head  again,  after  that. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  had  actually  paid  the  reward  to 
Maggie.  It  was  strange,  but  it  was  true;  and  the 
saddest  part  of  it  was,  Mr.  Wittleworth  had  received 
no  share  of  the  money.  He  had  given  his  valuable 
advice  to  the  barber's  daughter,  and  his  late  em 
ployer  had  received  the  full  benefit  of  it.  If  he,  Mr. 
Wittleworth,  had  been  so  vicious  and  depraved,  so 
lost  to  the  high  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  as  wilfully 
and  maliciously  to  have  given  Miss  Maggimore  bad 
advice  —  advice  not  based  on  his  experience  and 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  267 

knowledge  of  the  world ;  in  a  word,  if  he  had  told 
her  that  the  papers  were  good  for  nothing,  the 
young  lady  would  doubtless  have  destroyed  them. 

Instead  of  this,  he  had  been  upright  and  con 
scientious  ;  he  had  given  good,  wholesome  counsel, 
worthy  of  his  knowledge  and  experience.  Miss  Mag- 
gimore  had  actually  asked  him  if  the  papers  were 
good  for  anything;  and  he  had  actually  informed 
her  that  they  were  very  valuable,  thus  saving  them 
from  a  devastating  conflagration  in  the  cooking-stove. 
Miss  Maggimore  had  actually  been  paid  five  hundred 
dollars  for  opening  that  chest,  and  taking  therefrom 
the  package  of  papers ;  while  he,  who  had  furnished 
the  intelligence,  supplied  the  brains,  and  even  the 
physical  power  by  which  the  papers  had  been  con 
veyed  to  the  banker's  office,  had  not  received  a  cent ! 

There  was  something  wrong,  in  the  opinion  of  Mr. 
Wittleworth.  The  reward  should  be  at  least  equally 
shared  between  him  and  her.  In  the  morning  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  fifty  dollars  would  pay 
her  handsomely,  while  the  four  hundred  and  fifty 
would  not  be  an  over-adequate  compensation  for  the 
brains  of  the  transaction.  His  calculations  had  been 


268  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OB 

set  at  nought.  He  knew  the  value  of  those  papers, 
but  he  had  given  the  banker  credit  for  integrity  he 
did  not  possess,  and  had  lost  all.  The  world  was 
always  hard  on  Mr.  Wittlewofth,  and  at  this  time 
it  seemed  to  be  peculiarly  savage  towards  him,  espe> 
cially  as  he  had  been  out  of  business  three  mouths, 
and  needed  money  badly. 

It  would  be  useless  for  him  to  represent  his  re 
deeming  agency  in  the  affair  to  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 
The  great  man  refused  to  acknowledge  his  shining 
abilities.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  prejudiced  —  he  was. 
But  the  barber  was  a  singularly  simple-hearted  man. 
He  would  not  rob  a  flea  of  the  mite  of  warm  blood 
needed  for  its  supper.  Maggie  was  known  through 
out  the  neighborhood  as  a  good  little  girl,  and  Leo 
was  a  mere  tinker.  These  people  might  be  brought 
to  see  the  justice  of  his  claim,  and  to  acknowledge 
that  through  his  advice  and  influence  the  papers  had 
been  saved  from  destruction,  and  restored  to  their 
owner ;  or,  to  put  the  matter  in  its  most  direct  form, 
that  he  had  enabled  them  to  obtain  the  reward. 
They  were  indebted  to  him  for  it,  and  it  would 
be  exceedingly  stupid  of  them  if  they  could  not 


THE  pace  MAN'S  DAUGHTER.  269 

see  that  he  was  fairly  entitled  to  at  least  one  half 
of  it. 

The  next  evening  Mr.  Wittleworth,  to  the  con 
sternation  of  Leo,  paid  another  visit  to  the  hum 
ble  domicile  of  the  barber.  The  young  student  was 
disgusted.  His  lessons  were  behind,  and  he  could 
not  afford  to  be  interrupted ;  and  as  soon  as  Fitz 
came  in,  Leo  retreated  to  his  chamber  —  a  move 
ment  which  suited  the  visitor  quite  as  well  as  the 
scholar. 

"Mr.  Wittleworth,  I  am  very  glad  you  called," 
said  Andre,  "for  I  wished  to  ask  you  something 
more  about  Mr.  Checkynshaw's  daughter." 

"Any  information  which  I  possess  I  will  most 
cheerfully  impart  to  those  who  need  it;  but  I  ought 
to  say  that  I  came  on  business,  however,"  replied 
Fitz,  rather  anxiously. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Wittleworth ;  we  will  attend  to 
the  business  first,  if  you  desire." 

Mr.  Wittleworth  did  desire,  and  it  took  him 
about  an  hour  to  go  over  the  argument  which  had 
passed  through  his  brain  the  night  before ;  but  he 
made  it  appear,  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction,  that 


270  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

he  had  been  the  sole  instrun  entality  in  enabling  his 
auditors  to  obtain  the  princely  reward. 

"  But  I  hadn't  the  least  intention  of  burning  the 
papers,"  protested  Maggie.  "  It  is  true  I  almost 
wished  I  had  burned  them;  but  it  was  when  I  was 
afraid  they  would  get  Leo  into  trouble." 

M  Exactly  so ;  and  it  was  through  my  advice,  per 
sonal  influence,  and  personal  efforts,  that  the  papers 
were  restored  to  Checkynshaw." 

"  What  portion  of  the  reward  do  you  claim,  Mr. 
Wittleworth  ? "  asked  Andre,  very  mildly. 

"I  should  be  satisfied  with  one  half  of  it,  at  this 
stage  of  the  proceedings;  though,  when  I  consider 
that  it  was  entirely  through  my  advice  and  discreet 
action  that  the  papers  were  saved,  I  think  I  should 
be  justified  in  claiming  four  fifths,  or  even  nine  tenths 
of  it.  As  it  is,  you  having  already  received  the 
money,  I  will  be  content  with  half  of  it ;  though  this 
is  rather  hard  on  me,  considering  the  personal  indig 
nity  and  the  injury  in  my  feelings  to  which  I  was 
subjected." 

Maggie  looked  at  Andre,  and  Andre  looked  at 
Maggie.  Mr.  Wittleworth  was  modest  in  his  de- 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  271 

mand,  and  it  was  plainly  useless  to  discuss  the 
question. 

"  We  understand  your  position,  Mr.  "Wittleworth," 
said  Andre.  "  It  takes  us  rather  by  surprise ;  but  we 
will  consider  your  demand,  and  return  you  an  answer 
in  a  day  or  two.  We  may  wish  to  consult  Mr.  Check- 
ynshaw  about  it." 

"  No !  "  said  Fitz,  very  decidedly.  "  After  what  I 
have  said  to  you  about  Checkynshaw,  it  would  be 
absurd  for  you  to  consult  him.  Checkynshaw  is  rich, 
and  he  is  prejudiced  against  me  —  Checkynshaw  is. 
This  is  a  question  of  abstract  justice,  not  of  per 
sonal  feeling  or  personal  prejudice.  I  only  ask  for 
justice." 

"  We  will  think  of  it,  Mr.  Wittleworth,  and  give 
you  an  answer  to-morrow  or  next  day,"  repeated 
Andre.  "  I  am  very  much  interested  in  what  you 
said  about  Mr.  Checkynshaw's  first  child." 

"  In  a  question  of  abstract  justice,  Andre,  it  is 
hardly  necessary  for  an  honest  man  to  wait  a  single 
day  before  he  does  his  duty.  I  prefer  to  settle  thil 
little  matter  at  once,"  added  Fitz. 

"  But  I  have  not  the  money  in  the  house.     I  put 


272  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

it  in  the  Savings  Bank,"  replied  the  barber,  anxious 
only  to  defer  the  final  answer. 

"But  you  can  determine  your  duty  in  regard  to 
my  claim,  and  inform  me  of  your  intentions." 

"  I  have  no  intentions  at  present,  and  you  will 
pardon  me  if  I  decline  to  say  anything  more  about 
it  to-night." 

Fitz  began  to  think  he  was  overdoing  the  matter. 
Andre  appeared  to  be  slightly  ruffled,  and  he  deemed 
it  prudent  to  proceed  no  further. 

"  Very  well,  Andre ;  if  you  do  not  see  the  justice 
of  my  claim,  I  will  not  press  it.  You  are  an  honest 
and  a  just  man.  If  I  had  not  known  you  as  such,  I 
should  not  have  troubled  you.  Of  course  my  future 
opinion  of  you  must  depend  very  much  upon  your 
decision  in  this  matter.  Not  that  I  care  so  much 
for  the  money,  but  I  love  justice.  If  I  can  afford 
you  any  information  in  regard  to  Checkynshaw's 
child,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so." 

"Mr.  Wittleworth,  I  was  in  one  of  the  cholera 
hospitals  of  Paris  at  the  time  that  child  died  —  I 
think  you  said  ten  years  ago." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  exclaimed  Fitz.  "  It  was  ten 
years  ago  last  August." 


THE    KICK   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  273 

"  Do  you  know  in  what  hospital  the  child  was 
placed  ?  "  asked  Andre,  with  breathless  interest. 

"  I  do  not,  but  my  mother  does.  She  has  a  letter 
written  to  her  by  the  present  Mrs.  Checkynshaw,  in 
which  she  informed  her  that  Marguerite  had  died  in 
the  hospital.  But  Checkynshaw  looked  the  matter 
up  afterwards ;  and  he  says  the  child  did  not  die ; 
that  she  was  taken  away  by  the  Sisters  of  Charity. 
That  was  all  bosh." 

"Could  I  see  your  mother?"  asked  Andre. 

"  Certainly ;  you  can  walk  over  to  my  house  and 
see  her  if  you  like." 

"  I  do  not  ask  from  an  idle  curiosity,"  added  Andre 
"  The  foreign  residents  in  Paris  were  generally  taken 
to  the  same  hospital,  in  the  Rue  Lacepede.  I  was 
then  the  valet  of  an  English  gentleman,  who  died 
there  of  cholera.  While  I  was  there  —  for,  after  the 
death  of  my  employer,  I  was  engaged  as  a  kind  of 
interpreter  for  the  English  patients  who  did  not 
speak  French  —  the  Hopital  des  Enfants  Malades 
was  full,  and  a  portion  of  our  establishment  was  de 
voted  to  foreign  children.  I  well  remember  two 
children  of  the  name  of  Margaret ;  and  I  have  reason 
18 


274  MA.KE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

to  remember  them;"  and  Andre  glanced  tenderly  at 
Maggie.  "  One  of  them  died,  and  the  other  is  my 
Maggie." 

"  But  what  was  the  other  name  of  the  one  that 
died  ?  "  asked  Fitz,  nervously. 

"Marguerite  Chuckingham.  I  suppose  there  were 
other  Marguerites  there ;  but  I  did  not  know  them. 
They  could  not  find  the  dead  child's  parents ;  they 
were  dead  themselves.  I  would  like  to  see  your 
mother's  letter,"  added  Andre. 

Accepting    Fitz's    invitation,    the    barber    and   his 
daughter  walked  over   to  "his  house,"  and  were  in 
troduced    to  Mrs.  Wittleworth.     Andre  repeated   his 
Btory  about  the  two  Marguerites,  and  she  was  quite 
as  much  interested  in  it  as  her  son  had  been. 

"  I  have  the  letter,"  said  she.  "  I  thought  the  prop 
erty  was  mine,  and  that  the  letter  might  be  of  use  to 
me ;  so  I  have  carefully  preserved  it." 

She  went  to  the  bureau,  and  produced  the  letter. 
It  contained  a  pitiful  account  of  the  sufferings  of  Mrs. 
Checkynshaw  during  the  cholera  season,  and  the  an 
nouncement  of  little  Marguerite's  death  at  the  hospital 
in  the  Rue  Lacepede. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  275 

"  That's  the  place  !  "  exclaimed  Andre,  much  ex 
cited. 

"  What  became  of  the  child  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wit- 
tleworth,  not  less  agitated. 

"It  must  have  been  Marguerite  Chuckingham,  for 
that  was  as  near  as  a  Frenchman  would  be  likely  to 
get  the  name." 

"  But  it  may  have  been  the  other  Marguerite," 
suggested  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Andre,  with  something  like  a 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  having  Maggie  taken  froio. 
him,  even  to  dwell  in  the  palatial  home  of  the  banker. 

"Why  may  it  not  have   been?" 

"  Because  I  traced  the  parents  of  my  Maggie  to 
their  lodgings,  and  both  of  them  had  died  of  cholera. 
The  concierge  identified  the  clothing  and  a  locket  I 
found  upon  her  neck.  Besides,  Maggie  spoke  French 
then,  and  the  other  child  did  not.  I  have  no  doubt 
the  child  that  died  was  Mr.  Checkynshaw's." 

"Andre,  your  hand!"  said   Fitz. 

"I  don't  wish  to  harm  Mr.  Checkynsluiw,"  pro 
tested  the  barber,  taking  the  hand  involuntarily, 
rather  than  because  he  was  interested  in  the  act. 


276  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

"You  love  truth  and  justice;  you  have  the  reputa 
tion  of  loving  truth  and  justice,  all  over  the  world  — 
you  have.  You  are  a  noble-minded  man,"  continued 
Fitz,  eloquently.  "  Now  you  can  see  what  Cheeky  n- 
shaw  is,  and  now  you  can  see  what  I  am." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Fitz ! "  interposed  Mrs.  Wittle- 
worth. 

"  Foolish !  Mother,  have  I  not  furnished  wisdom 
for  our  family  ?  Have  I  not  told  you  from  the  begin 
ning  what  Checkynshaw  was  ?  I  told  you  the  child 
was  dead.  Now  it  is  proved." 

"  No  matter  if  it  is.     It  makes  no  difference  now." 

"It  is  matter;  it  does  make  a  difference.  Mother, 
you  know  how  earnestly  I  protested  against  your 
signing  that  quitclaim  deed.  Now  I  am  justified. 
Now  you  can  see  that  I  was  right,  and  you  were 
wrong." 

Andre  and  Maggie  had  no  interest  in  this  discus 
sion,  and  they  hastened  their  departure  as  soon  as 
the  atmosphere  began  to  look  stoi'iny.  The  barber 
was  sorry  he  had  said  anything.  Simple-minded 
man  as  he  was,  he  had  not  foreseen  that  he  was 
getting  Mr.  Checkynshaw  into  trouble,  and  he  de 
termined  to  say  nothing  more  about  it. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  277 

Fitz  stormed  furiously  when  it  was  proved  that 
u  wisdom  was  justified  of  her  followers."  He  de 
clared  that  Checkynshaw  had  cheated  his  mother 
and  himself  out  of  their  inheritance,  and  that  justice 
should  be  done,  if  the  heavens  fell. 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  I  have  signed  the  quitclaim 
deed  to  the  block  of  stores." 

"  No  matter  if  you  have.  Checkynshaw  deceived 
you.  You  signed  the  deed  only  because  he  said  the 
child  was  living.  We  shall  prove  that  the  child  is 
dead.  The  proceeding  will  be  in  equity ;  all  that 
has  been  done  can  be  ripped  up  as  easily  as  you 
can  tear  up  a  piece  of  paper.  I  know  something 
about  law.  Me  and  Choate  have  talked  over  cases 
in  equity." 

How  long  this  tempestuous  debate  would  have  con 
tinued  none  can  know,  for  it  was  disturbed  by  the 
ringing  of  the  door  bell.  The  person  admitted  was 
John  Wittlevvorth  himself,  the  husband  and  father, 
who  came  to  his  family  clothed  and  in  his  right 
mind,  from  the  House  of  Correction,  where  he  had 
served  a  term  of  four  months  as  a  common  drunkard. 
He  was  cordially  welcomed,  for  he  was  himself;  and 


278  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

there,  on  his  bended  knee,  he  promised,  and  called 
upon  Heaven  to  record  his  vow,  that  he  would  never 
again  taste  the  intoxicating  cup. 

He  had  been  discharged  that  afternoon,  and  had 
been  endeavoring  till  that  late  hour  to  find  his  wife 
and  son.  He  had  finally  traced  them  to  their  new 
home.  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  after  the  past 
had  been  fully  discussed,  Fitz  brought  up  the  matter 
of  Mr.  Checkynshaw's  child,  and  all  the  facts  which 
had  been  developed  were  fully  stated  to  him. 

Fitz  found  a  warm  supporter  of  his  views  in  his 
father,  who  declared  that  the  quitclaim  deed  was  not 
valid,  because  he  had  not  joined  her  in  making  it. 
Within  three  days  proceedings  in  equity  were  com 
menced  against  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 


THE    KICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  279 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    GOLD    LOCKET. 

MR.  CHECKYNSHAW  was  astonished  and  dis 
gusted  at  the  conduct  of  the  Wittleworths. 
The  block  of  stores  did  not  appear  even  yet  to  be 
securely  in  his  possession.  It  was  true  he  had  the 
quitclaim  deed  of  the  contingent  heir,  but  this  did 
not  seem  to  be  of  much  value  under  the  circum 
stances.  Mr.  Wittleworth,  senior,  had  again  appeared 
upon  the  stage.  He  had  not  before  considered  him 
in  making  his  calculations  ;  for  he  was  a  miserable 
sot,  before  whom,  and  at  no  great  distance  from  him, 
yawned  the  drunkard's  grave. 

John  Wittleworth,  in  his  right  mind,  was  an  able 
man,  and  his  reappearance  explained  the  decided 
action  of  the  family.  He  had  joined  the  temperance 
society,  and  he  was  now  a  stumbling-block  in  the 
path  of  the  banker. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  indignant.     He  had  paid  ten 


280  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR, 

thousand  dollars  for  that  quitclaim  deed,  or  rather  he 
had  given  it  in  charity ;  and  this  money  was  to  pay 
the  expenses  of  the  suit  brought  against  him ! 

lie  went  to  see  Mrs.  Wittleworth,  and  only  hoped 
that  he  should  not  see  John  or  his  son.  Unfortu 
nately,  Fitz  was  at  home.  Fitz  was  airy,  Fitz  was 
grand,  Fitz  was  magnificent.  His  views  and  opinions 
had  come  to  be  appreciated ;  they  had  risen  where 
the  froth  on  the  beer  rises,  to  the  top  of  the  mug. 
To  use  his  mother's  homely  but  expressive  saying, 
"you  couldn't  touch  Fitz  with  a  ten-foot  pole." 

"Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  solemnly,  "it  did 
seem  to  me  that  I  had  done  my  whole  duty  to  you, 
when,  three  months  ago,  I  placed  you  out  of  the 
reach  of  want  for  the  rest  of  your  lifetime.  I  con 
fess  my  grief  and  surprise,  after  what  I  have  done  for 
you,  that  this  suit  should  be  brought  against  me." 

"  If  the  matter  had  been  left  to  me,  the  suit  would 
not  have  been  brought  against  you,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wittleworth,  who  was  really  much  confused  and 
abashed  at  the  reproaches  of  the  great  man. 

"But,  Ellen,  I   must   hold    you   responsible  for  it 
If  you  had  not   consented,  it  could   not   hav<- 
commenced.     It  is  done  in  your  name." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  281 

"Hold-  me  responsible,  Mr.  Checkynshaw,"  inter 
posed  Fitz,  placing  himself  before  the  banker,  and 
stroking  his  chin  with  the  most  elegant  assurance. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  utterly  ignored  Fitz,  took  no 
notice  of  him,  passed  him  by  in  silence. 

"The  consideration  mentioned  in  the  quitclaim 
deed,  Ellen,  was  ten  thousand  dollars,"  continued 
the  great  man.  "Of  course  you  are  ready  to  pay 
this  back." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir ;  we  are  not  ready  to  pay  it  back," 
said  Fitz ;  "  but  we  are  ready  to  give  you  a  receipt 
for  it  on  account." 

"  It  is  hardly  right,  Ellen,  that  I  should  furnish 
money  for  you  to  carry  on  a  suit  against  me.  I  gave 
it  to  you  to  keep  you  from  the  almshouse,  and  that 
you  might  be  independent  of  any  neglect  on  my  part 
in  the  future.  This  money  is  now  to  be  wasted  in 
idle  litigation  —  in  paying  the  expenses  of  a  lawsuit 
brought  for  the  sole  purpose  of  annoying  me." 

"The  suit  is  brought  in  the  name  of  justice  and 
humanity,"  shouted  Fitz,  eloquently,  and  with  a 
spread-eagle  gesture.  "The  palladium  of  our  liber 
ties  —  " 


282  MAKE    OB    BREAK,    OR 

"Be  still,  Fitz — don't  be  silly!"  interposed  his 
mother. 

Fitz's  elegant  speech  was  nipped  in  the  bud. 

"  I  don't  like  to  do  it,  Ellen,  but  I  must  insist 
that  the  money  be  paid  back  to  me  immediately," 
added  the  banker.  "It  is  not  right  for  you  to  spend 
money  given  to  keep  you  out  of  the  poorhouse  in 
annoying  your  benefactor." 

Mr.  Cheeky nshaw  looked  injured. 

"I  am  willing  to  pay  the  money  back  as  soon  as 
I  can,"  added  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"We  are  not  willing  to  pay  the  money  back, 
mother.  That  would  not  be  proper  or  business-like, 
when  Mr.  Checkynshaw  owes  us  at  least  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars  for  back  rents  of  the  block  of  stores," 
Fitz  protested. 

"  I  shall  have  to  sue  you  at  once,  unless  the  money 
is  paid,"  said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  mildly.  "Your  hus 
band  brought  the  suit  against  me  without  giving  me 
any  notice.  I  wished  to  take  a  more  Christian  course 
with  you ;  but  I  can  stay  no  longer  to  be  insulted  by 
this  puppy!"  And  the  banker  nodded  his  head  in 
the  direction  of  Fitz. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  283 

"Puppy!"  yelled  Mr.  Wittleworth,  throwing  back 
his  head.  "Puppy!" 

"Be  still,  Fitz!"  said  his  mother. 

"Be  still,  and  be  called  a  puppy!" 

"Mr.  Checkynshaw,  I  can  only  say  that  I  meant 
to  do  right,"  added  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  Puppy !  "  howled  Fitz,  pacing  the  room  violently. 
«  Puppy ! " 

"  You  meant  to  do  right !  "  exclaimed  the  banker. 

"I  did.  You  told  me  that  Marguerite  was  alive 
and  well,  and  that  I  was  — " 

"  A  puppy !  That's  an  insult ! "  soliloquized  Mr. 
Wittleworth. 

"That  I  was  not  the  legal  heir;  that  I  had  no 
claim  upon  you." 

"And  you  have  not,"  replied  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 

"  The  blood  of  the  Wittleworths  boils ! "  stormed 
Fitz. 

"But  Marguerite  is  dead — died  ten  years  ago." 

"  What  nonsense  is  this ! "  said  the  banker,  in  dis 
gust,  though  his  face  was  a  shade  paler  than  usual, 

"We  have  the  means  of  proving  that  Marguerite 
died  at  the  time  your  wife  wrote  me  the  letter  to 
that  effect." 


284  MAKE    OK   BREAK,    OR 

"Yes,  sir;  we  can  prove  it,  sir!"  added  Fitz,  for 
getting  for  the  moment  that  he  was  a  puppy.  "  "W  6 
can  prove  it  by  good  and  reliable  witnesses,  sir." 

"  Ellen,  this  is  absurd,"  continued  Mr.  Checkynshaw 
"My  wife  did  write  you  a  letter;  but  you  know  what 
Paris  must  have  been  when  the  cholera  was  cutting 
down  men,  women,  and  children  by  the  hundred  daily. 
Marguerite  had  the  cholera,  and  my  wife  had  it.  Is 
it  strange  that  they  were  separated?  Is  it  strange 
that  the  child  was  reported  to  be  dead  ?  Is  it  strange 
that,  at  such  a  time,  my  wife  believed  the  report? 
She  was  mistaken.  I  found  the  child,  and  hastened 
to  correct  the  false  rumors." 

""We  can  prove,  by  a  credible  witness,  that  the 
child,  called  Marguerite  Chuckingham,  died,"  foamed 
Fitz. 

"  Who  is  the  witness  ? "  demanded  the  banker, 
turning  suddenly  upon  Mr.  "Wittle  worth,  and  for  the 
first  time,  apparently,  conscious  of  his  presence. 

"By  Andre  Maggimore,  a  good  man  and  true,  who 
was  employed  in  the  Hotel  de  Saltpetre,  in  the  Ruee 
Saleratus,"  replied  Mr.  Wittleworth,  triumphantly. 

He  had  been  reading  a  book  on  Paris,  where  men- 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  285 

tion  was  made  of  the  Salpetriere,  a  great  almshouse ; 
but  the  street  he  named  was  doubtless  his  own  cor 
ruption  of  the  Hue  Lacepede,  of  which  he  had  only 
heard  in  Andre's  narrative. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  really  troubled  now.  An 
other  of  the  recipients  of  his  bounty  had  proved 
faithless;  one  renegade  beneficiary  had  played  into 
the  hands  of  another.  Andre  had  shaved  him  for 
years,  but  had  never  said  a  word  about  the  hospitals 
of  Paris  to  him  ;  indeed,  Andre  had  never  said  any 
thing  to  him,  except  in  answer  to  his  own  questions. 

In  reply  to  his  inquiries,  Mrs.  Wittleworth  stated 
that  the  barber  had  called  upon  her,  and  repeated 
what  he  had  said,  in  evidence  of  the  truth  of  her 
assertion  that  Marguerite  was  dead. 

"Perhaps  Andre  means  to  be  truthful,  and  to  assert 
only  what  he  believes  to  be  true ;  but  he  is  mistaken," 
said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  nervously.  "Do  you  think  I 
should  not  know  my  own  child  when  I  saw  her?" 

"Of  course  you  would;  but  Andre  is  very  positive 
your  child  was  the  Marguerite  Chuckingham  that 
died,"  added  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 

"  This  matter  is  too  ridiculous  to  take  up  my  time 


286  MAKE    OB   BREAK,    OR 

for  a  moment.  I  am  ready  to  abide  the  decision  of 
the  court,"  continued  the  banker,  taking  his  hat  and 
moving  towards  the  door.  "I  hope  you  are  equally 
ready  to  do  so,  Ellen." 

"I  wish  to  do  only  what  is  right,"  replied  she. 
"  Will  you  see  my  husband  ? " 

"  ~No  ;  I  will  not,"  answered  Mr.  Checkynshaw. 
"If  he  wished  to  see  me  before  he  commenced  this 
suit,  it  would  have  been  proper  for  him  to  do  so.  I 
shall  not  run  after  him." 

"And  he  will  not  run  after  you,"  interposed  Fitz. 
"Justice  and  humanity  —  " 

"Be  still,  Fitz." 

"We  shall  retain  Choate  in  this  case.  Me  and 
Choate  have  talked  the  matter  over,  and  — " 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  bowed  stiffly,  and  left  the  room 
before  Fitz  had  time  to  say  what  terrible  things  "me 
and  Choate"  intended  to  do.  The  banker  was  evi 
dently  in  the  most  uncomfortable  frame  of  mind.  He 
was  nervous  and  uneasy.  His  step  in  the  street  was 
quick  and  sharp,  as  he  walked  to  Phillimore  Court. 
He  did  not  expect  to  find  Andre  there,  and  he  did 
not.  But  Maggie  was  a  remarkably  intelligent  girl, 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  287 

open  and  truthful,  and  she  would  be  less  likely  to 
veil  any  designs  from  him  than  one  who  had  seen 
more  of  the  world. 

The  banker  tried  to  think  what  motive  the  barber 
could  have  for  arraying  himself  against  one  who  had 
done  so  much  for  him  —  one  who  had  voluntarily 
paid  his  family  the  reward  of  five  hundred  dollars. 
It  was  possible  that  the  Wittleworths  had  been  at 
work  upon  Andre ;  that  they  had  induced  him  to 
give  evidence  in  support  of  their  assertion  that  Mar 
guerite  was  dead.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  a  shrewd 
and  deep  man,  in  his  own  estimation,  and  he  was 
confident,  if  any  such  scheme  had  been  devised,  he 
could  fathom  it.  He  rather  preferred,  therefore,  to 
see  the  members  of  the  family  separately,  and  Mag 
gie  was  the  best  one  to  begin  with. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  admitted  to  the  parlor  of  the 
barber's  home,  and  Maggie  was  the  only  person  in 
the  house  with  him;  for  Leo  was  at  school,  still  de 
termined,  make  or  break,  to  obtain  the  medal.  The 
fair  girl  blushed  when  she  recognized  the  visitor,  and, 
having  heard  that  the  Wittleworths  had  instituted 

the  suit,  she  trembled  with  fear;  for  she  suspected 

• 
that  the  great  man's  coming  related  to  that  event. 


288 

"Maggie,  I  am  sorry  you  and  yonr  father  have 
been  giving  bad  counsels  to  those  Wittle worths," 
the  banker  began,  in  solemn  tones,  but  apparently 
more  in  grief  than  in  anger. 

"Why,  sir!     Bad  counsels?"  exclaimed  Maggie. 

"I  have  given  the  Wittleworths  money  enough  to 
keep  them  comfortable  for  the  rest  of  their  lives ;  but 
they  are  ungrateful,  and  are  now  seeking  to  annoy 
ine  as  much  as  possible." 

"I  am  very  sorry." 

"I  thought  I  had  done  enough  for  your  family  to 
make  you  all  my  friends ;  but  it  seems  I  was  mis 
taken,"  added  the  great  man,  sadly  reproachful  in  his 
manner. 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  we  are  very  grateful  to  you,  and 
would  not  willingly  do  anything  to  injure  you,"  pro 
tested  Maggie,  warmly. 

"Why  did  your  father  tell  the  Wittleworths,  then, 
that  he  was  employed  in  the  cholera  hospital  in 
Paris?" 

"  Because  he  was  employed  there,"  replied  Mnggie, 
who  deemed  this  a  sufficient  reason  for  saying  so. 

u  Was  he,  indeed  ? "  asked  the  banker,  who  had 
been  sceptical  even  on  this  point. 


THE    RICH    MAN  S    DAUGHTER. 

Maggie  told  the  whole  story  of  the  two  Marguerites, 
as  she  had  heard  it  from  her  father. 

"One  Marguerite  died,  and  you  were  the  other," 
said  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  musing. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  don't  know  to  this  day  who  my 
father  and  mother  were ;  but  I  suppose  they  died  of 
cholera.  I  was  told  they  did.  Mon  pere  traced 
them  to  their  lodgings,  and  identified  the  clothing 
and  a  locket  I  wore." 

"A  locket?"  asked  the  banker,  curiously. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  was  the  locket?" 

"  It  was  a  gold  one,  with  the  miniature  of  a  gentle 
man  on  one  side,  and  a  lady  on  the  other,  with  locks 
of  hair.  I  suppose  they  were  my  father  and  mother." 

"Where  is  the  locket  now?" 

'•'•Mon  pere  has  it.  I  don't  know  where  he  keeps 
it.  He  tried  to  find  my  parents  before  he  came  to 
America,  but  without  success.  I  saw  the  locket  once, 
when  I  was  a  little  girl ;  but  mon  pere  don't  like  to 
talk  about  these  things.  He  loves  me,  and  he  only 
fears  that  I  may  be  taken  from  him." 

"  But  he  talked  with  the  Wittleworths  about  them." 
19 


290  MAKE    OR   BREAK,   OR 

"  He  couldn't  help  it  then,"  pleaded  Mnggie,  "  when 
he  heard  the  story  of  your  child  from  Fitz." 

JVlr.  Checkynshaw  abruptly  left  the  house,  and  has 
tened  to  the  shop  of  Cutts  &  Stropmore.  He  had  a 
long  conversation  with  Andre,  and  finally  they  went 
to  Phillimore  Court  together. 

The  banker  insisted  upon  seeing  the  locket,  and 
Andre  showed  it  to  him. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  291 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

•  ME    AND    CHOATE. 

"  A  PUPPY ! "  hissed  through  the  teeth  of  Fitz> 
JLV_  when  the  door  closed  behind  the  great  man. 
"  The  blood  of  the  Wittleworths  boils !  " 

"  Then  you  had  better  let  the  blood  of  the  Wittle 
worths  cool  off,  my  son,"  added  his  mother,  who  had 
no  taste  for  the  grandiloquent. 

"He  called  me  a  puppy  —  called  me  a  puppy!" 

"  You  shouldn't  bark  so  loud,  then.  I  don't  know 
that  any  but  puppies  interrupt  people  who  are  busy 
in  conversation.  "When  will  you  learn  to  keep  still, 
Fitz?" 

"When!  When  justice  and  humanity  no  longer 
require  me  to  speak  in  tones  of  thunder  against  op 
pression  !  Mother,  we  have  struck  the  enemy  a  fatal 
blow  !  Didn't  you  see  him  cringe  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't  see  him  cringe.  I  am  only  sorry 
that  I  consented  to  have  this  suit  brought  against 
Mr.  Checkynshaw." 


292  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

"  O,  mother !     After  all,  you  are  only  a  woman  !  " 

"  Stop  your  nonsensical  talk,  Fitz !  "Why  don't 
you  go  out  and  try  to  find  a  place  to  work?" 

"  A  place  to  work  !  "  sneered  Fitz.  "  In  a  few 
weeks  —  be  it  a  few  months,  if  you  please  —  we  shall 
be  in  possession  of  that  block  of  stores,  with  fifty 
thousand  dollars  in  the  bank.  What  need  have  I  of 
a  place  ?  Besides,  I  have  this  trial  to  look  out  for." 

"  I  think  your  father  can  attend  to  that  better  with 
out  you  than  with  you." 

"  Father  means  well,  and  I  trust  he  will  do  well," 
added  the  hopeful  son,  patronizingly.  "  But  father's 
infirmity  has  weakened  him.  He  is  only  the  ghost 
of  what  he  was," 

"Are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself  to  speak  of  your 
father  in  that  way,  Fitz?  Don't  you  make  another 
such  remark  as  that ;  if  you  do,  you  shall  not  stay 
in  the  house  with  him.  Your  father  has  more  knowl 
edge  and  experience  in  one  hair  of  his  head  than  you 
have  in  the  whole  of  your  silly  brain." 

"Was  I  not  right  about  this  affair?  Have  I  not 
persisted,  from  the  beginning,  that  the  ehild  was 
dead  ?  " 


THE    EICII   MA^'S    DAUGHTER.  293 


"  That  remains  to  be  proved." 

"  I  think  I  understand  this  business  better  than 
any  other  man  ;  and  if  you  are  beaten  in  the  suit, 
it  will  only  be  because  father  does  not  take  my  ad 
vice.  I  have  studied  the  case.  I  have  given  ray 
whole,  my  undivided  attention  to  the  matter  for 
several  weeks." 

"  It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had  given  your 
undivided  attention  to  something  else." 

"  Mother,  I  see  that  you  are  bound  to  follow  after 
foolishness  rather  than  wisdom.  But  I  cannot  forget 
that  I  am  your  son,  and  that  you  are  my  mother.  I 
shall  not  willingly  permit  your  interests  to  be  sacri 
ficed.  I  advised  father  to  retain  Choate.  He  has  not 
seen  fit  to  do  so.  This  shows  that  he  don't  under 
stand  the  matter  ;  that  he  does  not  comprehend  the 
diiliculty  in  fighting  a  man  like  Checkynshaw,  who 
is  both  wealthy  and  influential.  Choate  can  carry  the 
case.  Choate  is  a  friend  of  mine  —  Choate  is  ;  and 
I  am  going  to  see  to  it  that  Choate  don't  stand  in  a 
false  position  before  the  country  in  this  great  case." 

"You  silly  fellow!  What  are  you  going  to  do 
now  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Wittleworth. 


294  MAKE    OB    BKEAK,    OK 

"  I'm  going  to  see  Choate,"  replied  Fitz,  putting  on 
his  cap. 

His  mother  protested  against  any  and  all  steps 
which  her  son  might  take ;  but  Fitz  left  the  house. 
He  had  a  supreme  contempt  for  the  every-day  prac 
tical  wisdom  of  his  father  and  mother,  and  believed 
that  failure  could  result  only  from  their  neglect  to 
hear  and  heed  his  sage  counsels.  He  actually  went 
to  the  office  of  the  distinguished  gentleman  who 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  legal  profession,  and  who 
had  been  a  member  of  the  United  States  Senate. 
Mr.  Choate  was  a  very  gentlemanly  man,  affable  and 
kind  to  all,  to  whatever  sphere  in  life  they  belonged. 
He  spoke  with  gentleness  and  consideration  to  the 
boy  as  well  as  to  the  man. 

Fitz  had  been  the  errand  boy  in  the  office  of  the 
eminent  lawyer,  and,  of  course,  had  practically  experi 
enced  the  kindness  of  his  nature  and  the  gentleness 
of  his  manner.  Fitz  "  felt  big,"  and  put  on  airs, 
even  when  he  was  a  smaller  boy  than  now.  Mr. 
Choate  appreciated  genuine  humor,  and  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  he  enjoyed  the  "  big  talk "  of 
the  office  boy.  Perhaps  he  was  more  familiar  with 


THE    KICK    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  295 

him  on  this  account  than  he  otherwise  would  have 
been. 

Fitz  did  not  find  the  distinguished  gentleman  in 
his  office  the  first  time  he  went  there ;  but  he  re 
peated  the  call  till  he  did  find  him.  The  eloquent 
advocate  received  him  very  graciously,  as  he  did 
everybody  who  had  any  claim  upon  his  attention. 
Fitz  stated  his  business  as  briefly  as  he  could. 

"  I  cannot  attend  to  the  case,"  said  the  great  lawyer, 
very  kindly,  but  very  decidedly. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Choate ;  but  this  is  a  case  of  no 
little  importance.  Ever  since  I  was  in  your  office, 
I  have  had  the  highest  opinion  of  you,  both  as  a  man 
and  a  lawyer." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  favorable  consideration,"  re 
plied  the  eminent  orator,  soberly. 

"  If  there  is  any  man  on  the  earth  whom  I  respect 
and  esteem  above  all  others,  that  man  is  Mr.  Choate." 

"  I  hope  always  to  prove  worthy  of  your  regard." 

"I  come  to  you  now,  sir,  as  a  friend — for  I  am 
proud  and  happy  to  consider  you  as  such.  You  were 
always  very  kind  to  me." 

"  I  trust  I  have  always  recognized  your  great  merit." 


296  MAKE    OB    BREAK,    OK 

"  You  have,  sir ;  and  the  boast  of  my  life  will  be, 
that  I  have  been  associated  with  you  in  your  office." 

"  You  do  me  honor  ;  and  I  shall  always  hold  in 
grateful  remembrance  the  distinguished  service  you 
rendered  us  here." 

"  It  is  glorious  to  be  appreciated,  Mr.  Choate.  You 
are  appreciated,  Mr.  Choate.  Folks  know  you,  and 
look  up  to  you.  They  believe  you  are  some" 

"  I  arn  grateful  for  their  and  your  appreciation. 
But,  really,  Mr.  Wittleworth,  I  must  beg  you  to 
excuse  me,  for  I  have  important  business  before  me," 
added  the  lawyer,  nervously  turning  over  a  bundle 
of  papers,  covered  with  strange  characters,  which  no 
mortal  man  could  read ;  for  they  were  more  inexpli 
cable  than  Chinese  and  Syriac  to  a  Yankee  farmer. 

"  Pardon  me  for  detaining  you  yet  a  moment  long 
er,"  pleaded  Fitz,  placing  himself  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  with  his  hat  under  his  arm.  "This  is  a  case 
of  wrong  and  injustice,  of  oppression  and  usurpation. 
My  mother  is  the  rightful  heir  to  a  block  of  stores 
in  this  city,  which  the  greed  of  avarice  withholds 
from  her.  Me  and  father  have  taken  up  the  matter. 
We  have  been  foully  wronged ; "  and  Mr.  Wittleworth 


THE   KICK   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  297 

threshed  his  arm,  and  waxed  eloquent.  "  The  heel 
of  injustice  has  been  placed  upon  our  necks.  Mr. 
Choate,  you  are  the  people's  advocate.  Rising  supe 
rior  to  all  hopes  of  fee  or  reward,  you  raise  your  elo 
quent  voice  in  behalf  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan. 
You  plead  at  the  bar  of  justice  for  the  rights  of  the 
down-trodden.  Your  voice  is  like  a  trumpet,  and  — • " 

"  So  is  yours ;  I  beg  you  will  not  speak  so  loud. 
What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ? "  interposed  Mr. 
Choate. 

Fitz  explained  what  he  wished  the  great  orator  to 
do  —  to  raise  his  voice  in  behalf  of  the  oppressed, 
meaning  his  mother  and  himself;  and  he  soon  became 
quite  stormy  again.  His  single  auditor,  evidently 
amused  by  this  display  of  rhetoric,  permitted  him 
to  go  on. 

"Who  has  the  block  of  stores  now?"  asked  Mr. 
Choate,  when  Fitz  began  to  be  out  of  breath. 

"Mr.   Checkynshaw,  the  banker." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  am  already 
retained  on  the  other  side." 

"  On  the  other  side  ! "  gasped  Fitz. 

"I  am ;  and  really,  Mr.  Wittleworth,  you  must  ex 
cuse  me  now" 


298  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

"  On  the  other  side  ! "  repeated  Fitz.  "  Can  it  be 
that  the  mighty  name  of  Choatc  is  to  be  linked  with 
injustice  and  oppression?  I  will  not  believe  it!  I 
counted  something  upon  your  friendship  for  me,  Mr. 
Choate." 

The  great  orator  was  evidently  trying  to  read  some 
of  the  strange  characters  in  the  manuscript  before 
him,  and,  regardless  of  what  Fitz  was  saying,  had 
relapsed  into  a  fit  of  abstraction,  which  effectually 
placed  him  out  of  the  reach  of  Mr.  Wittleworth's 
reproaches.  The  sheets  looked  as  though  a  fish-worm 
had  come  out  of  the  inkstand,  and  crawled  over  the 
virgin  page.  It  was  doubtful  whether  he  was  able 
to  read  anything  lie  had  written,  and  possibly  he  was 
trying  to  remember  what  he  had  intended  to  commit 
to  the  paper. 

Fitz,  finding  that  the  distinguished  gentleman  took 
no  further  notice  of  him,  put  on  his  hat,  and  marched 
in  stately  grandeur  out  of  the  office.  The  great  man 
had  sunk  considerably  in  his  estimation,  though,  as  a 
matter  of  history,  he  was  never  pained  by  having  the 
fact  brought  to  his  knowledge. 

Mr.  Wittleworth  had  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  299 

abstract  right  and  justice.  If  Mr.  Choate  pleaded 
the  cause  of  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  he  would  in  this 
instance  be  beaten.  It  would  be  a  good  lesson  to 
the  great  lawyer,  and  Mr.  Wittle worth  magnani 
mously  hoped  that  he  would  profit  by  it.  He  was 
to  lose  all  the  glory,  honor,  and  immortality  to  be 
gained  by  being  on  the  right  side  in  the  great  case 
of  Wittleworth  vs.  Checkynshaw ;  but  it  was  not  Mr. 
Wittleworth's  fault.  He  had  given  him  an  oppor 
tunity  to  enlist  under  the  banner  of  truth  and  justice, 
and  he  had  refused  to  do  so.  It  was  his  own  choice, 
and  he  must  abide  the  consequences.  Mr.  Wittle 
worth  rather  pitied  him,  for  he  always  had  a  very 
tender  regard  for  the  reputation  of  his  friends. 

Mr.  Wittleworth  was  compelled  to  rely  upon  the 
skill  and  knowledge  of  the  legal  gentleman  whom  his 
father  had  employed  to  conduct  the  suit ;  but  he 
had  faith  that  justice  was  on  his  side,  and  must  pre 
vail  in  the  end.  He  waited  —  he  could  not  do  any 
thing  but  wait  —  until  the  day  assigned  for  the  hear 
ing  of  the  case  arrived.  Mr.  Wittleworth  took  a  seat 
with  his  father  and  mother  within  the  bar,  on  this,  as 
it  seemed  to  him,  most  momentous  occasion  the  \vorld 
had  ever  seen. 


300 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  appeared  by  counsel,  and  asked 
for  a  continuation  of  the  case  for  a  reasonable  time 
to  enable  him  to  bring  his  daughter  from  France. 

O  O 

The  banker's  business  lawyer  said  a  few  words  in 
making  the  request,  and  then  Mr.  Choate,  who  had 
been  employed  by  the  banker,  as  well  as  retained, 
added  the  weight  of  his  personal  influence  to  the 
application.  To  the  intense  disgust  of  Mr.  Wittle- 
worth,  it  was  granted  so  promptly  that  he  hardly 
knew  what  had  happened.  Another  case  was  called, 
and  the  Wittleworths  went  home. 

Though  Mr.  Checkynshaw  had  threatened  to  sue 
them  for  the  money  he  had  paid,  nothing  more  was 
said  or  heard  from  the  action.  Fitz  assured  his  father 
and  mother  that  the  banker  could  not  produce  his 
daughter,  and  that  the  case  would  not  come  to  trial. 
If  they  were  only  firm  and  decided  with  him,  Mr. 
Checkynshaw  would  give  up  the  block  of  stores,  and 
pay  over  the  back  rents.  He  must  do  so,  or  his  repu 
tation  would  be  blasted  forever.  He  must  stand  be- 
fore  the  world  as  a  knave  and  a  swindler,  unless  he 
did  full  and  ample  justice  to  the  widow  (who  had 
a  husband),  and  the  orphan  (who  had  a  father  and 


THK  RICH  MAN'S  DAUGHTER.  30J 

mother)  ;  for  Mr.  Wittleworth,  when  he  waxed  elo< 
quent,  had  a  habit  of  confounding  terms. 

About  a  week  after  the  hearing  which  had  been 
cut  short  so  suddenly,  Fitz,  deeming  it  his  duty  to 
look  after  the  witnesses  in  the  great  case  of  Wittle 
worth  vs.  Checkynshaw,  thought  it  advisable  to  call 
one  evening  at  No.  3  Phillimore  Court.  The  door 
was  locked,  and  the  house  was  dark.  He  repeated 
the  call  every  evening  for  a  week,  but  with  no  better 
result.  Then  he  went  in  the  daytime.  No  one  an 
swered  his  knock,  and  the  door  was  as  unyielding  as 
a  rock  of  granite. 

Mr.  Wittleworth  was  bewildered.  Mr.  Checkyn 
shaw  had  done  this !  He  had  spirited  away  the 
chief  witness.  Fitz  went  to  the  barber's  shop,  and 
inquired  for  Andre.  lie  had  left  his  place  ten  days 
before.  Fitz  met  Leo  on  the  street  one  day,  a  month 
later. 

"  Where  do  you  live  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  boarding  in  Gridley  Street." 

• 
"  Where  are  Maggie  and  your  father  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  France  with  Mi-.  Checkynshaw  after 
his  daughter,"  replied  Leo,  hurrying  on  his  way ; 


302  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

for,  make  or  break,  he  intended  to  be  at  school  in 
season. 

Mr.  Wittleworth  scratched  his  head  and  looked 
foolish.  Mr.  Checkynshaw  appeared  to  be  flanking 
him. 


THE   fclCIH   MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  303 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  ELEGANT  YOUNG  LADY. 

LEO  still  slept  at  the  house  in  Phillimore  Court, 
though  he  took  his  meals  in  Gridley  Street 
It  was  necessary  for  him  to  go  two  or  three  times  » 
day  to  his  shop  to  look  after  his  stock  of  mice,  rab 
bits,  pigeons,  and  guinea  pigs,  in  which  he  still 
carried  on  a  tolerably  lucrative  commerce  in  supply 
ing  his  old  friends  and  customers.  Every  moment  of 
his  time  was  occupied  from  six  o'clock  in  the  morning 
until  ten  o'clock  at  night.  He  did  everything  "  upon 
honor,"  and  he  carried  this  rule  into  his  lessons  as 
well  as  his  mercantile  speculations.  What  he  learned 
he  really  learned,  and  never  left  the  subject  till  he 
had  fully  mastered  it. 

Though  he  had  been  absent  from  school  over  two 
months,  he  stood  so  well  in  his  class,  that,  with  the 
severe  exertion  he  made,  he  was  able  to  regain  the 
position  he  lost.  As  soon  as  his  father  began  to 


304  MAKE    OR   BKEAK.    OH 

improve  in  health,  and  there  was  a  prospect  that  Leo 
might  again  take  his  place  in  school,  he  devoted 
himself  to  his  studies,  and  followed  up  his  geogrnphy, 
history,  and  arithmetic  with  a  zeal  which  promised 
the  best  results.  He  called  upon  the  master,  and 
received  directions  for  the  conduct  of  his  course. 
There  are  always  plenty  of  good  people  to  help 
those  who  are  willing  to  help  themselves,  and  Leo 
had  all  the  friends  he  needed. 

Everything  was  going  on  well  with  Leo,  even  aftei 
the  sudden  disappearance  of  Andre  and  Maggie,  whom} 
no  doubt,  he  greatly  missed  in  their  absence.  If  he 
knew  anything  about  the  reason  for  their  abrupt  de 
parture,  he  kept  his  own  counsel,  especially  in  the 
presence  of  Fitz  Wittleworth,  who,  since  he  had  dis 
covered  that  "his  witness"  had  been  tampered  with, 
had  become  the  tormentor  of  the  young  mechanic. 
Fitz  placed  himself  at  the  corner  of  Gridley  Street 
almost  every  day,  intent  upon  worming  something  out 
of  Leo.  The  latter  was  too  busy  to  waste  any  time 
on  such  a  fellow  as  Mr.  Wittleworth,  and  used  to 
avoid  him,  as  far  as  he  could,  by  taking  a  round 
about  way  to  his  boarding-house.  But  sometimes 
Fitz  blundered  upon  his  victim. 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  305 

"  I  want  to  see  you,  Leo,"  said  he  one  day,  when 
he  had  by  a  happy  scheme  outflanked  him. 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry,  Fitz ;  I  can't  stop  now.  My 
mice  haven't  had  their  dinner  yet,"  replied  Leo, 
uneasily. 

"  They  won't  starve  just  yet.  Hold  on  !  I've  got 
something  for  you,"  persisted  Fitz,  when  the  victim 
began  to  move  on. 

"  I  don't  want  anything." 

"Did  you  know  your  father  had  got  himself  into 
a  scrape  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  answered  Leo,  who  was  interested 
in  this  intelligence. 

"He  has;  and  he'll  have  to  answer  to  the  court 
for  clearing  out.  I  suppose  you  never  read  law,  and 
don't  know  anything  about  the  subordination  of  wit 
nesses.  I'll  tell  you." 

"  I  can't  stay  to  hear  it  now,"  replied  Leo,  laugh 
ing,  for  he  knew  the  difference  between  "  subordina 
tion  "  and  "  subornation." 

a  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  half  an  hour 
some  time." 

"What  about?" 

20  - 


306  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OB 

"  About  your  father.  Checkynshaw  has  bought 
him  up." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  bought  him  up '  ? "  de 
manded  Leo,  indignantly. 

"  I  mean  that  Checkynshaw  has  paid  him  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  in  our  great  case  of  Wittleworth 
versus  Checkynshaw,"  added  Fitz. 

"I  say  he  hasn't." 

"Hasn't  he  cleared  out?" 

"  What  if  he  has  ?     He's  coming  back  again." 

"Don't  tell  me!     I  know  something  about  law." 

"  I  won't  tell  you,  and  you  needn't  tell  me.  If 
you'll  keep  your  side  of  the  street,  I'll  keep  mine. 
If  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Andre  Maggimore  has 
done  anything  wrong,  or  means  to  do  anything  wrong, 
you  don't  know  the  man." 

"  I  say  he  has.  He  was  summoned  as  a  witness 
for  our  side,  and  he  has  sold  out  to  the  enemy." 

"He  hasn't  done  anything  of  the  sort." 

"What  has  he  gone  to  France  for,  then?" 

"That's  his  business,  not  yours." 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  business ;  I  manage  our  suit,  and 
you  had  better  tell  me  all  you  know  about  it.'r 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  307 

"  I  guess  not  !  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  know 
much  about  it ;  and  in  the  second,  if  I  did, .  1 
wouldn't  tell  you." 

"If  Andre  Maggimore  commits  perjury — " 

"That  will  do,  Fitz  Wittleworth.  I  don't  want 
to  quarrel  svith  you,  and  I  don't  mean  to  do  so ;  but 
you  can't  talk  like  that  to  me  without  getting  a 
broken  head.  So  you  can't  talk  to  me  at  all.  If 
you  speak  to  me  again,  I  won't  answer  you." 

Leo  turned  abruptly  from  Fitz,  bolted  into  a  run, 
and  did  not  slacken  his  pace  till  he  reached  the 
house.  He  was  tempted  to  pitch  into  Fitz ;  his  fists 
had  involuntarily  closed;  and  he  felt  that  if  he  lis 
tened  any  longer,  he  should  not  be  able  to  control  his 
wrath.  Leo  stuck  to  his  text,  and  when  Fitz  at 
tempted  to  speak  to  him,  he  dodged  him  as  though 
he  had  been  an  unclean  beast.  Of  course  Leo  knew 
•why  his  father  and  his  sister  had  gone  away ;  but  he 
did  not  intend  to  give  the  Wittleworths  the  benefit 
of  his  knowledge.  He  had  an  occasional  letter  from 
Maggie,  and  about  a  week  before  the  exhibition,  he 
received  one  informing  him  that  she  and  her  father 
would  sail  for  home  in  the  next  steamer,  and  ex« 
pected  to  be  present  at  the  exhibition. 


308  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

The  great  day  of  the  school  year  arrived.  The 
examination  for  medals  had  taken  place,  and  Leo 
confidently  expected  this  crowning  distinction  of  his 
school  life,  though  no  one  could  know  who  were  to 
be  the  happy  recipients  of  the  medals  until  their 
names  were  called  on  the  great  day.  There  was 
only  one  damper  upon  his  enthusiasm  as  the  eventful 
occasion  dawned  upon  him.  The  steamer  bearing 
Andre  and  Maggie  had  been  expected  the  day  be 
fore,  but  she  had  not  arrived ;  and  Leo  felt  that  half 
his  pleasure  would  be  lost  because  they  were  not 
present  to  witness  his  triumph. 

The  exercises  of  the  exhibition  proceeded,  and  Leo 
spoke  his  piece,  and  carried  through  his  part  in  the 
original  dialogue  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  in 
terested.  The  silver  pitcher  had  been  presented  to 
the  "  beloved  teacher,"  and  the  chairman  of  the  dis 
trict  committee  had  risen  to  deliver  the  medal  speech, 
when  the  crowd  at  the  doors  was  opened  by  the  gen 
tlemanly  policeman  in  attendance  to  allow  the  passage 
of  some  favored  guests.  Leo  was  in  a  flutter  of  ex 
citement  ;  for,  shortly  after  the  exercises  began,  the 
school-house  being  located  near  the  bay,  he  had  heard 


THE    RICH    MAN  S    DAUGHTER.  dU9 

the  two  guns  which  announced  the  arrival  of  an  Eng 
lish  steamer,  in  those  blissful  days  when  Boston  was 
favored  by  the  Cunard  line. 

Through  the  crowd  came  Mr.  Checkynshaw,  fol 
lowed  by  a  young  lady  of  remarkable  beauty,  who 
was  most  elegantly  dressed ;  and  behind  her  came 
Andre  Maggimore.  They  were  provided  with  seats, 
and  the  exercises  proceeded.  Everybody  seemed  to 
pay  more  attention  to  the  beautiful  young  l*^  uian 
to  the  excellent  chairman,  whose  forte  certainly  was 
not  speech-making.  The  fashion  of  her  dress  was  a 
season  ahead  of  the  ideas  of  other  ladies  present,  and 
was  of  the  most  costly  material. 

Some  of  the  people  thought  they  had  seen  her 
before,  but  they  were  not  quite  sure.  Leo  was  cer 
tain  that  he  had  seen  her  before,  and  he  found  it 
hard  work  to  keep  his  seat  during  the  solemn  and 
impressive  remarks  of  the  worthy  chairman  of  the 
district  committee ;  and  it  was  only  when  he  began  ta 
call  the  names  of  the  successful  candidates  for  th« 
medal  that  the  whole  attention  of  the  aspirant  was 
given  to  him. 

"  Leopold  Maggimore,"  called  the  chairman  for  the 


S10  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

sixth  name,  which  would  have  been  the  first  if  Lea 
had  not  been  absent  so  long. 

There  was  some  applause  bestowed  upon  each  of 
the  recipients;  but  that  which  greeted  Leo's  name 
was  warm  and  enthusiastic.  Andre  smiled,  and  the 
beautiful  young  lady  in  the  elegant  dress  smiled  ;  and 
even  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was  so  far  in  sympathy  with 
the  occasion  that  he  smiled  too,  when  the  blue  ribbon 
was  put  upon  the  neck  of  Leo.  After  that,  the  time 
hung  heavy  upon  all  our  characters  who  were  present, 
especially  as  the  distinguished  gentlemen  who  had 
been  invited  to  make  a  "  few  remarks  "  were  unu 
sually  long-winded  and  prosy. 

The  exhibition  was  finished  at  last,  and  the  elegant 
young  lady  flew  to  the  seat  of  Leo,  the  silk  fluttering 
like  a  summer  tempest,  grasped  both  his  hands,  and 
actually  kissed  him  before  the  assembled  multitude. 
There  were  several  scores  of  nice  young  men  present, 
who  envied  Leo  now  more  than  when  the  blue  ribbon 
was  placed  on  his  neck ;  and  it  ought  to  be  added 
that  Leo  bore  his  martyrdom  with  remarkable  forti 
tude.  Andre  then  grasped  his  hand,  and  the  teara 
stole  down  his  pale  face.  Even  Mr.  Checkynshaw 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  311 

condescended  to  take  the  hand  of  the  young  man., 
and  congratulate  him  upon  the  distinction  he  had  won. 

The  party  left  the  school-house.  There  was  a  car 
riage  waiting  at  the  door  for  the  banker,  which  bore 
them  to  Pemberton  Square.  It  is  not  of  much  con 
sequence  what  happened  there,  and  we  need  only  say 
that  the  elegant  young  lady  was  rather  sad,  and 
seemed  to  cling  more  to  Andre  and  Leo  than  to  the 
lofty  man  who  entertained  them,  or  to  his  family. 

The  great  case  of  Wittle worth  vs.  Cheeky nshaw 
had  been  twice  postponed  during  the  absence  of  the 
defendant,  and  it  was  called  for  the  fourth  time  only 
a  few  days  after  his  return.  All  the  parties  were 
present  this  time.  Mr.  Fitz  Wittleworth  did  not 
seem  quite  as  confident  as  before.  There  were  in 
dications  of  a  "gigantic  conspiracy,"  as  he  expressed 
it,  against  the  majesty  of  justice  as  represented  by 
the  "Wittleworths.  It  was  alleged  that  the  defendant 
had  his  daughter  in  court  —  and  a  beautiful  young 
lady  she  was ;  but  Mr.  Wittleworth  insisted  that  this 
person  —  elegant  and  richly  dressed  as  she  appeared 
—  was  an  impostor,  employed  to  personate  the  de 
ceased  child  of  his  powerful  rival,  and  thus  enable 


312  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OR 

him    to    retain    the    block   of   stores    and   the    back 
rents. 

Mrs.  Cheeky nshaw  and  Elinora  were  in  court ;  so 
were  Andre  and  Leo.  Mr.  Choate  was  there,  and 
Mr.  Wittleworth  cast  a  reproachful  glance  at  him ; 
but  it  was  fortunate  for  the  distinguished  orator  that 
he  did  not  know  how  much  he  had  fallen  in  the  esti 
mation  of  one  "  who  had  formerly  been  in  the  office 
with  him." 

Certain  dry  formalities  were  solemnly  passed 
through;  the  counsel  for  the  plaintiff  made  a  state 
ment,  during  which  he  read  extracts  from  the  will 
of  Mr.  Osborne.  It  was  plain  enough  to  everybody 
that  the  block  of  stores  belonged  to  Mis.  Wittle 
worth,  unless  the  trustee  and  defendant  could  produce 
his  daughter.  She  was  produced ;  but  Fitz  was  still 
hopeful.  The  elegant  young  lady  was  no  other  than 
Miss  Maggie  Mnggimore.  It  was  evident  enough  to 
him  that  she  had  been  engaged  to  play  the  part  in 
the  farce.  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  was  the  first  witness 
called.  She  told  the  whole  story  about  the  cholera 
in  Paris;  that  Marguerite,  her  husband's  daughter, 
had  the  disease  first,  and  was  reported  to  have  died 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  313 

with  it ;  that  she  was  taken  with  the  terrible  malady 
shortly  afterwards;  and  that  the  child  wore,  at  the 
time  she  was  taken  to  the  hospital,  a  gold  locket^ 
which  contained  portraits  of  her  father  and  mother, 
and  a  lock  of  the  hair  of  each.  This  locket  was 
handed  to  her,  and  she  identified  it. 

Fitz  began  to  be  alarmed. 

Andre  was  called  next.  He  had  been  employed 
as  an  interpreter  in  the  hospital  in  the  Rue  Lace- 
pede.  He  had  frequently  seen  the  child  whose  name 
was  entered  on  the  books  of  the  establishment  as 
Marguerite  Poulebnh.  He  was  informed  that  her 
parents  had  died,  and  that  she  had  no  friends  to 
whom  she  could  be  sent.  He  became  very  much  in 
terested  in  her,  and  when  something  was  said  about 
taking  her  to  an  orphan  asylum,  he  had  invited  her 
to  go  home  with  him.  He  kept  her  there  a  few 
days,  and  became  so  much  attached  to  her  that  he 
was  not  willing  to  give  her  up.  His  landlady  took 
care  of  her  till  he  embarked  for  America,  where  he 
soon  found  employment  as.  a  barber,  and  had  ever 
since  retained  her.  He  identified  the  locket  as  the 
one  worn  by  the  child  when  he  took  her  from  the 


314  MAKE    OR   BREAK,    OR 

hospital.  He  confessed  that  he  had  done  wrong  in 
not  using  greater  efforts  to  find  the  friends  of  the 
child ;  but  they  were  so  much  attached  to  each  other 
that  a  separation  would  have  been  insupportable  to 
either. 

Andre  finished  his  direct  statement,  and  the  coun 
sel  for  the  plaintiff  immediately  opened  upon  him  so 
fiercely  that  Fitz  began  to  feel  that  the  day  was  not 
wholly  lost. 


THE   RICH   MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  315 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THE   RICH   MANS   DAUGHTER. 


fc~¥lT7~HERE  were  you  born,  Mr.  Maggimore?" 
?  f  asked  the  Wittleworth  lawyer. 

ttln  London,"  replied  Andre. 

"Are  you  a  Frenchman?" 

"My  father  was  Italian,  ray  mother  French." 

"  Did  you  ever  learn  the  barber's  trade,  or  did  you 
pick  it  up  yourself?" 

"I  was  apprenticed  to  a  barber  in  London,  and 
served  seven  years." 

*'  Have  you  always  worked  at  the  business  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  I  used  to  shave  an  English  gentleman 
who  had  a  stiff  arm,  and  I  finally  went  into  his  ser 
vice  as  his  valet.  I  remained  with  him  till  he  died 
of  cholera  in  Paris.  I  lived  with  him  fourteen  years," 
answered  Andre,  meekly. 

"Have  you  ever  told  any  person  that  Marguerite 
Checkynshaw  died  at  the  hospital?"  demanded  the 
attorney,  sharply. 


316  MAKE    OR    BREAK,   Oii 

"I  have,  sir." 

"Was  it  true?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Why  did  you  say  so,  then?" 

"Because  I  thought  it  was  true." 

"What  made  you  think  so?" 

"The  last  name  of  the  Marguerite  that  died  waa 
so  like  Checkynshaw." 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  other  Marguerite  ? " 

"Poulebah." 

"Did  you  make  any  effort  to  find  the  parents  of 
the  child  you  adopted  ?  " 

"  I  did ;  I  found  the  lodgings  they  had  occupied, 
and  the  concierge  identified  some  clothing  and  the 
locket  which  I  carried  to  him.  He  told  me  that  the 
parents  of  the  child  were  both  dead.  He  only  knew 
that  they  were  English.  I  have  no  donbt  now  that 
he  was  a  bad  man,  and  that  he  told  me  what  he  knew 
was  not  true  in  regard  to  the  child." 

"Why  so?" 

"I  think  it  is  probable  the  Chuckinghams  left  some 
property  in  their  rooms  which  he  desired  to  keep,  and 
because  I  have  learned  from  Mr.  Checkynshaw  that 


THE    RICH   MAN'S   DAUGHTER.  817 

the  house  I  visited  was  not  the  one  occupied  by  him. 
The  concierge  told  me  two  falsehoods  —  that  the 
clothing  and  locket  belonged  to  the  child  of  his 
lodger,  and  Jhat  she  spoke  French." 

The  lawyer  twisted  the  matter  about  in  various 
ways ;  but  Andre  was  as  clear  as  light  itself,  and  he 
did  not  materially  contradict  himself.  Mrs.  Cheeky  n- 
shaw  was  called  for  the  defence;  but,  to  the  aston 
ishment  and  disgust  of  the  legal  gentleman  and  his 
employers,  she  testified,  in  the  most  positive  manner, 
that  the  elegant  young  lady  in  court  was  Marguerite 
Checkynshaw.  She  had  taken  care  of  her  as  a  child, 
and  she  could  not  be  mistaken.  Mrs.  Wittleworth 
was  put  upon  the  stand,  with  the  letter  announcing 
the  death  of  Marguerite  in  her  hand  ;  but,  poor 
woman,  all  her  evidence  was  against  herself.  She 
identified  the  locket,  and  was  in  the  end  very  sure 
that  the  beautiful  young  lady  was  her  niece. 

Mr.  Fitzherbert  Wittleworth  was  utterly  disgusted, 
though  he  could  not  help  believing  that  the  young 
lady  was  his  cousin.  Not  a  doubt  was  left  in  the 
mind  of  any  person,  and  of  course  Mr.  Checkynshaw 
won  his  case ;  but  the  great  man  was  very  far  from 


•318  MAKE    OE    BKEAK,    OR 

satisfied  with  himself,  or  with  the  position  in  which 
the  trial  left  him.  It  was  apparent  to  all  the  world 
that  he  had  attempted  to  defraud  Mrs.  Wittleworth 
out  of  the  block  of  stores,  and  ten  years'  income 
upon  it ;  but  the  banker  was  not  a  man  to  bend 
before  the  storm  of  popular  opinion.  He  took  the 
trouble  to  define  his  position,  and  to  explain  away 
what  was  dark  and  unsatisfactory.  He  did  not 
believe  his  child  was  dead.  He  was  satisfied  that 
Marguerite  Poulebah  was  Marguerite  Checkynshaw, 
though  he  could  not  find  her.  The  director  of  the 
hospital  said  the  Sisters  had  taken  her,  and  he  was 
sure  she  was  living. 

Besides,  it  would  have  been  wicked  to  hand  the 
property  over  to  Mrs.  Wittleworth  for  her  drunken 
husband  to  squander  away,  and  make  her  a  beggar 
a  second  time.  He  intended,  in  due  time,  if  his 
daughter  did  not  appear,  to  pass  the  property  to  the 
rightful  heir  when  it  could  be  safely  done.  The 
integrity  of  his  intentions  could  not  be  doubted,  for 
had  he  not  given  Mrs.  Wittleworth  ten  thousand 
dollars?  The  quitclaim  deed,  he  declared,  was  only 
to  save  himself  from  being  annoyed  by  Fitz  and  his 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  319 

father.  Of  course  he  intended  to  make  it  all  right 
in  the  end. 

Mr.  Checkynshaw  did  not  forgive  the  Wittlewortha 
for  the  mischief  they  had  attempted  to  do.  He  hint 
ed  at  steps  for  compelling  them  to  restore  the  ten 
thousand  dollars;  but  Maggie  protested,  in  her  way, 
against  such  a  course,  and  nothing  was  ever  done. 

Marguerite  Checkynshaw  went  to  live  in  Pember- 
ton  Square ;  but  she  was  not  happy  there,  and  every 
day  she  visited  the  house  at  No.  3  Phillimore  Court. 
Poor  Andre  was  actually  miserable.  He  had  lost  his 
darling  child,  and  it  was  little  comfort  to  know  that 
she  dwelt  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and  splendor. 
Though  he  saw  her  every  day,  he  was  sad,  and 
almost  disconsolate. 

Maggie  tried  to  be  happy  in  her  new  home,  but 
her  heart  was  not  there.  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  was 
cold  and  distant  to  her,  and  Elinora  was  a  little, 
petulant,  disagreeable  tyrant,  who  lived  for  herself 
alone.  She  tried  to  love  her,  but  she  tried  in  vain. 
Her  father  was  kind  and  indulgent  to  her;  yet  she 
saw  but  little  of  him.  Maggie  went  to  school  for 
two  years,  and  was  busy  with  her  studies  and  her 


320  MAKE    OB   BREAK,    OK, 

music  lessons ;  but  not  an  evening  passed  without 
her  going  to  see  her  foster-father,  after  he  left  the 
shop.  About  nine  o'clock  Leo  walked  home  with 
her;  but  he  seldom  entered  her  father's  house. 

In  the  choice  of  a  pursuit  for  life,  Leo  won  the 
day,  and  went  to  learn  the  machinist's  trade.  He 
did  not  give  up  the  "mouse  business"  entirely,  but 
found  time  to  make  new  houses;  and  there  were  cus 
tomers  to  purchase  them,  adding  quite  a  sum  to  the 
income  of  his  foster-father.  A  housekeeper  was  em 
ployed  to  take  Maggie's  place;  but  home  was  never 
the  place  it  had  been  after  Maggie  went  away. 

John  Wit  tie  worth  kept  his  solemn  promise,  and  con 
tinued  to  be  a  steady  man.  He  obtained  employ 
ment  in  a  wholesale  grocery,  and  served  so  faithfully 
that  he  won  the  esteem  and  regard  of  the  firm.  His 
former  ambition  returned  to  him,  and  when  he  spoke 
of  going  into  business  on  his  own  account,  with  a 
portion  of  his  wife's  money  as  his  capital,  he  was 
admitted  as  a  partner  in  the  firm  that  employed  him. 
He  was  a  man  of  excellent  abilities,  and  in  time  he 
acquired  a  handsome  property. 

Fitz  never  amounted  to  much.     His  ideas  were  too 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  321 

big  for  his  station.  He  obtained  several  situations; 
but,  as  he  aspired  to  manage  his  employers'  business 
without  their  aid,  he  was  often  out  of  a  place.  When 
his  father  went  into  business,  he  was  taken  as  an  entry- 
clerk  ;  but  he  was  such  a  trial  that  even  parental  solici 
tude  could  not  tolerate  him,  and  he  was  sent  away. 
He  was  not  a  bad  boy;  but  self-conceit  was  the  rock 
on  which  he  wrecked  himself.  He  found  another 
situation,  and  another,  and  another;  but  his  stay  in 
each  was  short.  And  so  ho  went  from  one  place  to 
another,  achieving  nothing,  until  he  was  twenty-five 
years  old,  when  he  married  a  lady  ten  years  his  senior, 
whom  even  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  she  possessed 
did  not  tempt  any  one  else  to  make  a  wife.  Fitz  is 
a  gentleman  now ;  and  though  his  lot  at  home  is  try 
ing,  he  still  maintains  his  dignity,  and  lives  on  his 
wife's  property.  He  is  not  dissipated,  and  has  no 
bad  habits;  but  he  docs  not  amount  to  anything. 
People  laugh  at  him,  and  speak  contemptuously  of 
him  behind  his  back;  and  he  is,  and  will  continue  to 
be,  nothing  but  a  cipher  in  the  community. 

In   the  little   smoking-room  in  the  house  in  Pem- 
berton  Square,  three  years  after  Maggie  went  to  live 
21 


322  MAKE    OK    BREAK,    OU 

there,  on  the  very  sofa  where  Andre  Mnggimore  had 
lain,  was  stretched  the  inanimate  form  of  another 
person,  stricken  down  by  the  same  malady.  It  wa3 
Mr.  Checkynshaw.  The  two  gentlemen  with  whom 
he  had  been  conversing  Avhen  attacked  by  the  fit  had 
placed  him  there,  and  Dr.  Fisher  had  been  sent  for. 
From  that  sofa  he  was  conveyed  to  his  bed,  still 
insensible.  His  eyes  were  open,  but  he  knew  none 
of  those  who  stood  by  his  couch. 

The  doctor  came;  but  the  banker  was  out  of  the 
reach  of  human  aid,  though  he  survived  a  day  and  a 
half.  Maggie  watched  over  him,  as  she  had  over  An- 
dro;  but  vain  was  her  care,  and  vain  were  her  hopes. 
Her  father  died.  A  few  days  later  a  long  funeral 
procession  left  the  house,  and  Mr.  Checkynshaw  was 
borne  to  his  lost  resting-place  at  Mount  Auburn.  Mrs. 
Checkynshaw  was  bewildered  and  overwhelmed ;  Eli- 
nora  was  so  nervous  that  she  required  an  attendant 
constantly;  and  Maggie  had  little  time  to  weep  her 
self,  so  devoted  was  she  to  the  wants  of  others. 

By  the  death  of  her  father,  everything  was  changed 
with  Maggie.  There  was  little  sympathy  between  her 
and  the  other  members  of  the  family.  Mrs.  Checkyn- 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  323 

shaw  decided  that  the  house  should  be  sold,  and  that 
she  and  the  two  daughters  should  board  with  a  rela 
tive  of  her  own.  Maggie  did  not  like  this  arrange 
ment,  though  she  was  prepared  to  accept  it  if  no 
better  one  could  be  suggested.  She  stated  her  objec 
tion  in  the  gentlest  terms;  but  her  step-mother  was 
cold,  and  even  harsh,  and  Maggie  realized  that  the 
future  was  to  be  more  unhappy  than  the  past.  In 
this  emergency  she  consulted  her  old  friend,  Dr. 
Fisher,  who  was  familiar  with  all  the  circumstances 
of  the  family. 

"  I  cannot  live  with  Mrs.  Checkynshaw  and  Elinora, 
now  that  my  father  is  no  longer  with  us,"  said  she, 
sadly.  "  I  do  not  like  them,  and  they  do  not  like 
me." 

-"It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  live  with 
them,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  Couldn't  I  live  with  Andre  again  ? "  asked  she, 
eagerly. 

"  Certainly  you  can.  Leave  this  to  me.  I  will  see 
your  father's  executors,  and  tell  them  your  wishes." 

"Thank   you,  doctor." 

"The  block  of  stores  yields  a  large  income,  besides 


324  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

your  share  of  your  father's  property ;  but,  Maggie, 
you  are  under  age,  and  you  must  have  a  guardian  to 
take  charge  of  your  property.  Your  own  wishes  in 
this  matter  will  be  consulted." 

"Andre!"  exclaimed  she,  with  enthusiasm. 

The  doctor  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  "Why  not  ?  "  demanded  she,  her  face  looking  sad 
again. 

"  Andre  is  a  very  good  man,  but  he  does  not  know 
much  about  business." 

"There  is  nothing  to  do  at  present  but  to  collect 
the  rents  on  the  block  of  stores.  I  could  not  name 
any  one  but  Andre  for  my  guardian." 

"  Perhaps  the  court  will  not  approve  of  him  if  you 
do,"  added  the  doctor,  with  a  smile. 

"I'm  sure  Andre  is  honest  and  true,  and  will  be 
faithful  to  the  end.  He  knows  enough  about  busi 
ness  to  take  care  of  the  property." 

Maggie  argued  like  a  woman,  and  the  doctor  prom 
ised  to  do  what  he  could  to  meet  her  wishes.  Mr. 
Checkynshaw's  executors  were  opposed  to  the  plan ; 
but,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  Maggie  and  the 
doctor,  they  at  last  consented  to  recommend  it,  and 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  325 

Andre  was  appointed  guardian  of  the  rich  man's 
daughter.  If  ever  a  man  was  amazed  and  bewil 
dered,  Andre  was,  when  he  found  himself  the  keeper 
of  such  a  vast  property. 

Maggie  had  a  plan  of  her  own.  Andre  was  to  be 
a  barber  no  longer.  A  nice  brick  house  in  Harrison 
Avenue  was  hired,  and  furnished  in  good  style,  and 
the  strange  family  were  once  more  united.  Leo  sold 
out  the  mouse  business  to  Tom  Casey,  and  was  as 
happy  as  a  lord  in  his  new  home.  The  executors 
paid  Maggie's  share  of  her  father's  estate  to  Andre, 
in  accordance  with  the  provisions  of  the  will.  The 
ex-barber  was  not  a  business  man  ;  but  this  fact  ren 
dered  him  all  the  more  cautious  in  handling  the  prop 
erty  intrusted  to  his  care.  He  had  shaved  men  of 
dignity  and  substance  for  so  many  years,  that  he  had 
no  lack  of  friendly  advisers.  With  fear  and  trem 
bling  he  discharged  his  sacred  duty. 

But  Andre's  duties  as  guardian  were  abruptly  ter 
minated  one  day,  before  Maggie  was  twenty-one.  A 
remarkably  good-looking  young  lawyer,  Mr.  Charles 
Harding,  the  partner  of  an  older  legal  gentleman 
who  had  done  Andre's  business,  relieved  him  of  his 


326  MAKE    OR    BREAK,    OR 

charge  by  marrying  his  ward.  Everybody  said  he 
was  a  splendid  fellow,  and  Maggie  knew  he  was.  No 
one  seemed  to  be  astonished  except  Leo,  who  thought 
the  affair  had  come  off  rather  suddenly.  He  did  not 
exactly  understand  how  Maggie  could  have  fallen  in 
love  with  any  fellow  —  he  never  thought  of  such 
things. 

"  So  Maggie  is  married,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Wittleworth 
one  day,  when  they  met  in  the  street. 

"  Yes ;  and  a  capital  fellow  Harding  is,  too,"  replied 
Leo,  warmly. 

"It  was  rather  sudden  —  wasn't  it?" 

"  Well,  it  was  rather  sudden ;  but  when  I  think 
what  a  beautiful  girl  Maggie  was,  and  when  I  think 
what  a  good  girl  she  was,  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  — 
not  a  bit." 

"But,  Leo,  I  always  thought  you  would  marry 
Maggie,"  added  Mr.  Wittleworth,  stroking  his  chin. 

"I!"  exclaimed  Leo,  opening  his  eyes.  "Why,  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"The  more  fool  you,  when  you  could  have  done  it.* 

"What,  marry  my  sister!" 

"She  isn't  your  sister,  any  more  than  I  am." 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    DAUGHTER.  327 

"Well,  it's  all  the  same  thing,  and  I  could  never 
look  upon  her  as  anything  but  a  sister,"  replied  Leo, 
as  he  hastened  to  his  work. 

Leo  was  satisfied ;  for  lie  could  still  love  Mrs.  Har 
ding  as  a  sister ;  and  he  had  certainly  never  thought 
of  her  in  any  other  relation.  Perhaps  he  did  not 
think  of  anything  at  that  time  but  machines  and  ma 
chinery.  Both  he  and  Andre  remained  with  Mrs. 
Harding,  for  she  would  not  consent  to  their  leaving 
her.  And  her  husband  liked  them  because  she  did. 

When  Leo  was  twenty-five,  his  inventive  genius 
had  laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune,  and  his  "roy 
alties"  soon  made  him  independent,  for  ho  had  the 
business  ability  to  profit  by  his  inventions.  When 
he  was  married,  the  "strange  family"  was  separated, 
but  never  in  spirit.  Andre  goes  from  one  house  to 
the  other  half  a  dozen  times  a  day,  and  is  honored 
as  a  "grandpa"  by  four  little  boys  and  girls. 

Leo  has  always  been  the  determined  and  perse 
vering  individual  he  was  in  his  youth,  when  engaged 
in  the  "  mouse  business."  As  an  apprentice,  as  rv 
journeyman,  as  a  master  machinist,  and  as  an  in 
ventor,  it  has  been  "MAKE  or  BKEAK"  with  him; 


328  MAKE    OR    BREAK. 

and,  though  the  parts  of  his  machinery  often  did 
break,  and  the  apparatus  failed  to  do  its  expected 
•work,  he  did  not  give  up;  and  he  conquered  in.  the 
end,  whatever  trials  and  difficulties  interposed. 

Mrs.  Harding  is  superlatively  happy  in  her  hus 
band,  her  children,  her  foster-father,  whom  she  still 
lovingly  calls  "mon  pere?  and  in  her  noble  brother. 
She  calls,  at  long  intervals,  upon  Mrs.  Checkynshaw 
and  Elinora ;  and  peace  reigns  between  the  two 
houses  of  Checkynshaw  and  Wittleworth.  Though 
she  was  never  happier  than  when  she  knew  no  other 
relation  than  that  of  the  poor  man's  daughter,  she 
has  every  reason  to  be  thankful,  and  is  thankful,  to 
God  for  the  blessings  which  have  come  to  her  as  THE 
RICH  MAN'S  DAUGHTEB. 


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